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FRA^^K E. SMEDLEY. 

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AUTHOR OP “ FRANK FAIRLEGH,” “ LEWIS ARUNDEL,” “TOM RACQUET,” 
“FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES OF HARRY RACKETT SCAPEGRACE,” 
“HARRY COVERDALE’S COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE,” ETC., ETC. 


“ There is no writer of fiction since Sir Walter Scott who has so well deserved popu- 
larity as the author of this story .” — Exeter Gazette. 

“ Deserving of a place in our libraries, and the perusal of which on some dull fore- 
noon or wet evening will yield pleasure and profit. The writing is quaint, humorous, 
graphic .” — Glasgow Citizen. 

“ Its fame is very likely to be more durable than that of the majority of works of 
the kind .”— Life in London. 


IP Ijilabclpljta: 

T. B. PETEESON & BEOTHEES, 

306 ;CHESTNUT STREET. 



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CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE. 

1. Wherein our Hero makes his Bow and comes into his 

Property 5 

II. The Pecks 13 

III. Lorimer, en Garmon 21 

IV. Poor Little Rose 28 

Y. Staggering Bill receives a Morning Call 36 

VI. After the Opera 44 

VII. Mr. and Mrs. Crump... 64 

VIII. Mr. Weazel makes a Discovery 63 

IX. Lorimer calls in the aid of Captain Kelly 71 

X. Rose receives a Morning Call 78 

XI. Mr. Weazel renews an Old Friendship 86 

XII. Captain Kelly performs his Mission 94 

XIII. Mr. Bosher’s Strange Client... 101 

XIV. Pleasant Prospects for Lorimer 108 

XV. Job Peck’s Holiday 115 

XVI. Further Adventures of Mr. Job Peck and his Master... 122 

XVII. Lorimer holds a Levee and makes a Speech 131 

XVIII. Bennoch V. Littlegood and Another 137 

XIX. Another Runaway 146 

XX. How THE Littlegoods bore Reverse of Fortune 153 

XXL Bill Bennoch entertains his Friends in an Unexpected 

Manner 160 

XXH. Peg Todd meets an Old Friend 166 


iT CONTENTS. 

CHAP. PACK. 

XXIIL Lorimer seeks a Situation 173 

XXIV Professor Dabskin.. 180 

XXV. Professor Dabskin^s Philosophy 186 

XX VL In the ]Matter of Richard Bennooh, a Minor. 194 

XXYII. Lorimer’s First Appearance on any Stage 202 

XXVIII. A Falcon hovers over a Dove 208 

XXIX. Lorimer meets with New Friends and an Old One,. 21 G 

XXX. Mrs. Bennoch astonishes the Court of Chancery 225 

XXXI. “Arcades Ambo” 233 

XXXIL Over the Water 241 

XIXXIII. An Unexpected Rencontre 250 

XXXIV. Is he Jealous? 259 

XXXV. Mr. Falcon’s Guardianship terminates suddenly 268 

XXXVI. Confession and Sympathy 376 

XXXVII. A Departure and an Unpleasant Surprise. 282 

XXXVIII. Rose Astonishes a Lawyer 291 

XXX TX. An Introduction 298 

XL. Mother Shaddles 306 

XLI. The Conspiracy 311 

XLIL In which our Story is brought to a Close...'. 318 


LOEIMER LITTLEGOOD 


CHAPTER I. 

WHEREIN OUR HERO MAKES HIS BOW AND COMES INTO HIS PRO- 
PERTY. 

“ And all the rest, residue, and remainder of my real and 
personal estate, whatsoever and wheresoever, I give, devise, 
and bequeath unto my dear son, Lorimer, his heirs, executors, 
and administrators, for ever.” 

Such were the words which Mr. Bosher, attorney-at-law, read 
out with due solemnity in the little drawingroom of Verbena 
Cottage, near the well-known town of Muddleford, in the coun- 
ty of Surrey. Mr. Bosher always threw extraordinary emphasis 
into the reading of a will, especially when the document had 
been drawn by himself. When he announced a large legacy, 
the words were very slowly and distinctly drawn out, and a 
little tremulousness of the voice at the same time thrown in, 
to impress you with the deep respect he entertained for the 
benevolence of the departed. A bequest to himself produced a 
Blight huskiness, and the necessity of pulling out a very white 
and voluminous pocket handkerchief to be applied to the cor- 
ners of his eyes. The cutting off of any scapegrace or offend- 
ing relation with a shilling, was delivered with thrilling severity 
of tone. The provision for ‘‘ my dear wife” brought forth a 
tenderness of utterance almost unprofessional; and the final 


6 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOB. 


wind-up of all “ the rest and residue,” came with a force and 
dignity of manner that nothing but long practice could have 
produced. 

Mr. Bosher was a florid and stout gentleman with a bald 
head, which shone as brilliantly as if carefully polished every 
morning with a furniture brush. He was always dressed in 
black, and on important occasions like the present he wore a 
white neckcloth several inches high, and swathed round his neck 
in a manner that seemed to threaten suflbcation. Such watch- 
seals and keys as dangled from Mr. Bosher’s fob are rarely 
seen in these degenerate days, which is to be lamented, seeing 
that they are wonderfully imposing. 

In character, Mr. Bosher was unassailable. Everybody (that 
is, the everybody of Muddleford and its vicinity) knew him 
and trusted him. His private office was, from floor to roof, all 
round the four walls, crowded with japanned tin boxes holding 
clients’ papers and title deeds, and labelled “ Jonathan Pod- 
gers, Esq.,” “The Pumpkin Estates,” “Tompkins’s Trustees,” 
dsc. dec. Everybody — the everybody aforesaid — left a legacy, 
large or small, to “My friend John Bosher, Esq., as a slight 
token of my esteem for him, and my appreciation of his pro- 
fessional services.” Everybody employed Mr. Bosher as his 
attorney ; Mr. Bosher knew everybody’s affairs much better 
than everybody himself did, and Mr. Bosher kept his knowl- 
edge locked in his own breast as safely as his clients’ papers 
were locked in the tin boxes. 

Such was the gentleman who had just read the concluding sen- 
tences of the will of the lateMr. Littlegood, a mild, quiet man who, 
having an independence, and being fond of botany and geology, 
fishing and floriculture, had retired to Verbena Cottage, near 
Muddleford, some three-and-twenty years previously, imme- 
diately after his marriage. He had been dead a week when 
our tale opens, leaving a widow and two children — a daughter 
aged 19, and named J essie ; and a son just 21, who was christen- 
ed Lorimer, Mr. Littlegood had first of all provided for his 


COMES INTO Ills FORTUNE. 7 

wife ; then left £2,000 to his daughter ; and the rest of his 
property to his son. 

The widowed mother and her two children were the only 
persons present in the little drawing-room besides the at- 
torney. Mr. Bosher had told them that no one else need 
attend ; and of course Mr. Bosher knew all about it, for he bad 
drawn the will himself, and kept it in one of the before-men- 
tioned tin boxes, labelled “ Thomas Littlegood, Esq.,” till 
death carried the testator off. 

Gentleness seemed to be the prominent characteristic of Mrs. 
Littlegood, judging from her appearance. Facility of temper 
and a kind of bodily and mental inactivity, which is considered 
highly virtuous in people who are above the reach of want, 
made her a weak character. Energy was as foreign to her as 
courage to a hare ; while anything absolutely wrong she knew 
nothing about except from hearsay. She was an amiable nega- 
tive. 

Mrs. Littlegood wept as the attorney concluded his task ; 
wept placidly and gently, and yet sincerely. 

“ lie was so good,” she murmured. ^ 

“Excellent man, my dear madam,” assented the attorney — 
“ excellent man ; a great consolation to know that.’^ 

Mrs. Littlegood sighed. 

• “ He w'as the best of husbands and of fathers, and I hope,” 
she continued, “ Lorimer ’ll be exactly like him.” 

Mr. Bosher always wished to assent to a proposition when 
he could ; but whether in this instance he found it difficult to 
indulge in the hope expressed, or impossible to believe in its 
realization, it is not for us to decide. Certain it is that he only 
cleared his throat and said, “ Ahem !” 

Lorimer Littlegood looked at Mr. Bosher, and then looked 
at his mother, and then looked at his sister, and lastly took a 
slight glance at the mantelpiece-glass. Apparently, Mr. Lori- 
mer Littlegood was not quite certain whether he was expected 
to say anything, or whether he could decently tell such a fib a« 


R 


LOEIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


to join in the maternal hope. He had liked his father very 
much; few men had such an indulgent “governor;” he re- 
spected the old gentleman’s goodness of heart, serenity of tem- 
per, and innocence of pursuits ; but he did not exactly desire 
to give up his own tastes for those of his departed parent ; he did 
not wish to become what Sydney Smith calls a “ kind of holy 
vegetable” any more than to exchange his own luxuriant curls 
and bright blue eyes for the scratch wig and silver-rimmed 
spectacles of his father. 

“ Mr. Lorimer will no doubt have all the steadiness and 
sobriety of character that we admired so much in his father,” 
said the lawyer, to fill up the pause ; though he felt anything 
but satisfied with himself for telling such an untruth ; for Mr. 
Bosher entertained strong suspicions that Lorimer was likely 
to be the very reverse of his father in those important points. 
Considering that Lorimer had been once rusticated while at 
Oxford, and had usually spent five times his allowance, the 
lawyer may perhaps be pardoned for his suspicions. 

Lorimer muttered something about “ doing his best,” but 
looked fidgetty ; Mrs. Littlegood glanced fondly and trustfully 
at her son ; the attorney again clearned his throat, and, swal- 
lowing the remains of a glass of sherry which he had been sip- 
ping, he proceeded to make his bow, shake each of the three 
inmates of the room by the hand, and take his departure from 
Verbena Cottage. 

We have said something about Mrs. Littlegood and her son, 
but nothing about her daughter. And yet Jessie deserves a 
little description, though we feel some diffidence in attempting 
it; for Jessie Littlegood was not one of those every-day per- 
sons of whom you can say that they are pretty or plain, clever 
or stupid, amiable or ill-tempered. There were so many ap- 
parently conflicting elements in her character, that it required 
some power of analysis to determine their relative proportions 
and strike the balance between — not the good and evil, for o* 
positive evil she had perhaps none — but of the truly lovable 


COMES INTO HIS FORTUNE. 


9 


and the less amiable qualities. Pope, for whose opinions we 
have the highest respect, was nevertheless a bad judge (because 
a prejudiced one) of women, and never wrote so silly a line as — 

“ Most women have no characters at all.” 

Our own experience and study of human nature teach us the 
very reverse — that there is more variety of character among 
women than in our own sex. But as we may be at variance 
on this point with some philosophers, and perhaps many of our 
readers, we will not attempt to enter into a disquisition on the 
subject. We may at least record the fact that Jessie was a 
girl of decidedly original character. She had inherited none 
of her father’s placidity or her mother’s indolence. Whence 
came her quick temper, her strength of affection, her shrewd 
sense, yet her deep poetry of feeling, who shall say ? or why, 
instead of her hither’s blue eyes and light hair, and her mother’s 
grey eyes and hair of no color at all, she had those dark, lus- 
trous, liquid orbs full of passion and of intellect, and those 
tresses only a few shades removed from black ? Thought, feel- 
ing, and energy were the characteristics which even a super- 
ficial observer might have read in her face. What else there 
was — how much of good and noble, how much of perilous and 
passionate — the progress of our story will develop. 

A tall and graceful figure, and regular features, with such 
eyes and hair as we have mentioned, made Jessie a beautiful 
girl — one that you would turn to look at a second time, wherever 
vou might chance first to see her. 

So thought Lorimer as he gazed for some time on his sister 
after Mr. Bosher had quitted the room. Mrs. Littlegood soon 
left them alone. 

“ She will fret to death, I fear,” said Lorimer. 

“No,” said Jessie; “not so, my dear brother. Her dis- 
position is too calm and equable for you to fear that ; it is pent- 
up grief that kills, not that which gushes forth in copious tears.” 

“ Perhaps so,” replied Lorimer. 


10 


LOEIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


He was not much accustomed to think for himself, and was 
content always to adopt the sentiments of his sister so long as 
they did not run contrary to his personal wishes. 

‘‘ Lorimer, do you mean to live here ?” asked Jessie, after a 
pause. 

“ Eh ? — Well, really, my dear girl, I have not thought about 
it yet ; but, now you mention it, 1 suppose not. You see I 
have no rural tastes, except hunting and shooting ; and one 
can only follow those at certain times of the year. So I dare 
say I shan’t live here.” 

“ What do you think of doing ?” asked Jessie ; “ shall you 
follow a profession 

“I don’t think I shall; one does not feel the necessary 
stimulus when one’s wants are provided for ; don’t you think 
so r 

“ Perhaps,” said Jessie, but very doubtingly. 

“ I want to see life,” continued Lorimer. 

“ In what way ?” asked Jessie, most innocently. 

“ ’Pon my soul, I don’t know how to answer you,” replied 
Lorimer, after a pause ; “ what I mean is, that I don’t know 
enough of the world. I want to mix with men of all classes 
— knock about a little — don’t you understand 

“ The description is not a very precise one, my dear Lori- 
mer,” said Jessie, with a half melancholy smile; “ but I think 
I understand it a little. You mean, that as you have tasted of 
some dissipation on a small scale' at Oxford, you would, now 
that you are master of yourself and a small fortune, like to try 
it on the larger scale of London? Am I right?” 

‘‘No, hang it, not exactly that. Women always fancy that 
seeing life is being dissipated — that awful word, which is gen 
erally a bugbear of their own or their mama’s raising.” 

“ Perhaps I have strange notions on these subjects,” said 
Jessie, scarcely noticing her brother’s protest. “ 1 believe that 
if we follow the straight line of duty in our own station, what- 
ever that may be, we see all we need of what you call life ; 


COMES INTO HIS EORTUNE. 


11 


and that those who step aside to see more of it, may occasion- 
ally be wiser in one sense — but are seldom happier — than their 
fellows. However, my dear brother, 1 don’t expect a sister’s 
tongue to turn you aside from your purpose. I only hope you 
may find the result of your search more conducive to your 
happiness than I anticipate. And now, Lorimer dear, I won’t 
preach any more. God bless you, my brother, and shield you 
from harm ! I must go to mama — I don’t like her to be alone.” 

Next day, Mr. Lorimer Littlegood proceeded to call on Mr. 
Bosher. The attorney received him with cordiality and the 
respect due to a client. 

“ What I particularly wish you to understand, my dear sir,” 
said he, “ is the exact position of your own affairs. I dare say 
you are not quite acquainted with your father’s property.” 

“ I scarcely know anything about it.” 

“Exactly so,” continued Mr. Bosher. “Well, first of all, 
there are six houses in Muddleford, which produce £306 per 
annum. Then there is a small fiirm at Whippenham, which 
lets for £180 a year. There is a sum of £3,000 on mortgage 
of Lord Crackley’s estate, at 4 per cent. ; that brings £120 a 
year. And then there are some shares in the railway here, 
which at the present dividend produce £245. Then there is 
exactly £1,000 a year dividends from 3 per cent consuls. All 
this is exclusive of the little landed property settled on your 
mother, and the £2,000 charged on it for your sister. So that, 
you see, your income is now £1,851 per annum.” 

“ It is more than I expected,” said Lorimer. “ It would be 
absurd for me to go to the bar : don’t you think so ?” 

^ “ Decidedly,” replied Bosher ; and he did think so, though 

for very difterent reasons from those of his young client. 
“ May I ask what you do think of doing 1” he said. 

“ 1 want to see life, you know,” replied Lorimer. 

“ Exactly so ; travel, I presume ?” 

“ No : at least, not just yet. I think I shall run up to town 
and look out a snug little place to live in ; and join a club ; and 
go into society, and so on. You understand 1” 


12 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 

“ Entirely,” said the lawyer ; and again he spoke the truth. 

“ By the by,” said Lorimer, “ I owe about four hundred at 
Oxford. I suppose I can raise that without much trouble ?” 

“ 1 shall be happy to place it to your credit at the bank here 
to-day,” answered the attorney. 

“ Thank you, thank you,” said Lorimer, very heartily. “ Do 
you want me to sign anything ?” 

“ Not yet,” replied Mr. Bosher ; “ and if you excuse me for 
giving you the advice. I’d recommend you not to sign anything 
you can help. You’ll find, when you’re seeing life, that there 
are some friends who are always anxious to possess one’s auto- 
graphs — on little stamped slips of paper.” 

“ Ha, ha !” said Lorimer. Yes, I know something about 
that sort of thing. Good day.” And he left the office. 

“ Capital fellow, old Bosher,” he said to himself as he walked 
homewards. 

‘‘ HeHl go to the deuce,” muttered the attorney when left 
alone ; “ and my impression is that he won’t even keep to the 
high road to get there, but take an unusually short cut to 
reach it. We shall see!” 


/ 


THE PECKS. 


13 


CHAPTER II 

THE PECKS. 

Mrs. Peck was rocking the cradle, and Mr. Peck was 
smoking his pipe. The cradle contained the fifth little Peck 
which the good wife had presented to her husband. And per- 
fectly contented with the presents he had received looked Mr. 
Peck, as he puffed out small clouds of tobacco-smoke, and al- 
ternately glanced at his wife and his sleeping baby. Very 
happy also looked Mrs. Peck, as she watched the little one, and 
turned now and then a smile of loving satisfaction towards her 
husband. 

Mr. Peck was, in size, next door to a giant. . He stood six 
feet and we don’t knowhow many inches more in his stockings ; 
that is to say, when he stood upright, which was very seldom. 
He had very broad shoulders, very large hands, and enormous 
feet ; but a head small enough for a much more moderate- 
sized man. It was a round, compact, bullet-shaped head, with 
crisp curling hair growing thickly over it. But it was not a 
vicious-looking head : on the contrary, the expression of Mr. 
Peck’s face was that of perfect placidity and good nature. You 
were not likely to mistake him for a genius ; still less for a 
ruffian. He wore a suit of brown corduroy familiar to the 
eyes of all railway travellers ; for Peck was a porter on one 
of the principal lines. 

Mrs. Peck was almost as remarkable for her diminutive size 
as her husband for the reverse. She was small in height, and 
small in every way— small features, small hands, and small 
feet. Indeed, so small was she, that it was currently believed 


u 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


that Mr. Peck had acquired his perpetual stoop by continually 
leaning down to whisper soft tales of love in her ear, during 
their days of courtship. 

Mr. Peck gave you the idea of a lazy good-natured giant ; 
not that he was actually idle, but he had a ponderous way of 
doing everything, even to the lifting of a tea-cup, that impressed 
one with a notion of slowness. Mrs. Peck, on the other hand, 
was as lively as a little bird, hopping about the room, and doing 
half a dozen things at once, with the most perfect ease and 
vivacity. They had been married about six years, and the 
fifth little Peck in the cradle bore testimony to the rapidity 
with which Mrs. Peck added to the population returns of the 
Registrar-General . 

It was an evening in April, and a cheerful fire was burning 
in the grate. There neede(f to be something cheering indoors, 
for the weather outside was wretched enough. The rain came 
pouring down in that determined style which makes it seem a 
type of infinity. Who can watch the steady, heavy streams 
from the pea-soup colored clouds, that are clouds no longer, but 
part of the atmosphere itself, and believe that it will ever leave 
off? Chilly and damp feels everything to the touch; dreary 
and miserable and dirty looks every living thing in the streets ; 
monotonous and wearying sounds the incessant pattering on the 
window. 

“ Job’s very late, and it’s an awful night to be out in,” ob- 
served Mrs. Peck, as she looked at a little Dutch clock that 
hung over the dresser, and saw that it pointed to nine o’clock. 

“ He’s old enough to take care of himself, Betsey,” said Mr. 
Peck ; “ and a little rain won’t hurt him.” 

“ I hope he’ll get the situation,” continued the wife : “ it’s a 
sad thing for a lad of eighteen not to be earning his own 
living'” 

“Well, it ain’t his fault, poor fellow,” said the husband: 
“ he did earn it till that there Binks became bankrupt ; and 
Binks owns that Job’s as good a stable-boy as ever he had.” 


THE PECKS. 


15 


He’s a good lad, I know, Tom,” replied Mrs. Peck : “ and 
I’m sure 1 love him as your brother ; and it’s because he is 
your brother that I’m so anxious about him. I hope he’ll al- 
ways be steady.” 

“ Oh ! he’ll do,” rejoined the giant, who was of a comfort- 
able disposition, contented to take things as they came, and 
never trouble his little round head with the anticipation of evils 
that might never happen. Peck was a philosogher in his way. 

A slight interruption to the conversation now took place, by 
Peck No. 5 in the cradle waking up and fancying that he was 
being defrauded of his proper share of nutriment. His dis- 
satisfaction was expressed in the usually forcible infantile fashion 
of screaming, as though ten thousand pins were running into 
him, while his mother cried, “ There, there, there, dear little 
fellow and his father looked (like a politician of the Man- 
chester school) anxious for peace at any price. 

“ I think I heard a knock, Tom,” cried the wife, as soon as 
she could make her voice audible above the baby’s yells : ‘‘ per- 
haps it’s Job.” 

Mr« Peck went and opened the door, and admitted, not the 
expected Job, but a neighbor with a dripping umbrella. 

“Why, it’s Mr. Weazel, I declare !” exclaimed Mrs. Peck. 
“ Who’d have thought of seeing you on such a night as this 

“ It is an unpleasant evening, certainly,” replied Mr. Weazel, 
shaking hands with her and then taking a seat ; “ and that’s 
partly the reason why I came, for I thought you might be dull, 
and I’d got a little news to tell you.” 

The speaker was a sharp-featured, small man, with bright 
grey eyes, and an unquiet, perpetually-twitching mouth. His 
age was apparently about five-and-forty, but might have been 
less, as he was evidently of that nervous kind of disposition 
that never gives the body a fair chance. 

“ And what’s the news ?” asked Mrs. Peck, who generally 
conducted three-fourths of the conversation, as her husband was 
a man of few words. 


16 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGCOD. 


“ You recollect Mr. Littlegood, don’t you ?” said Weazel. 

“The gentleman that lived at Verbena Cottage, when I was 
in service at Muddleford asked Mrs. Peck. 

“Yes. Well, he’s dead — been dead these six months,” said 
Weazel. 

“ You don’t mean that !” exclaimed Mrs. Peck, as if the 
idea of any one dying was something remarkably novel and in 
- comprehensible : “ poor fellow !” 

“He’s dead and buried,” said Weazel: and as he had al- 
ready told her that Mr. Littlegood had been dead six months, 
it is probable that the good woman would have conjectured that 
he had also been buried by this time. 

“ He was rich, wasn’t he ?” asked Mrs. Peck. 

“ Ah ! that’s it,” answered Weazel, looking mysterious and 
extremely disagreeable at the same time. “ He was rich ; but 
how did he get his riches 

“ I’m sure I don’t know : he didn’t do anything wrong, did 
he ?” she asked. 

“No: didn’t, perhaps; but his father did :” and Weazel 

looked more mysterious than ever. 

“ Goodness me ! you don’t mean it !” answered Mrs. Peck, 
with a vague feeling of terror, as if she were going to hear a 
ghost-story. 

“ Burked anybody asked Tom, joining the conversation 
for the first time. 

“No — not that,” replied Weazel, contemptuously; for he 
despised Mr. Peck’s intellectual powers, as much as he envied 
him his bodily strength. “ He was a lawyer, and he got hold 
of property he’d no right to ; and he warn’t the only lawyer 
mixed up in it ; and the other one’s alive now ; and I know the 
man who ought to have the property ; and I’ve been finding 
out all about it these six years ; and I’ve got nearly all the 
proofs.” 

It must not be supposed that Mr. Weazel delivered this 
speech right off as we have written it. He only gave a sen- 


THE PECKS. 


17 


tence at a time, and paused for half a minute between each one 
to observe the effect upon his hearers. Tom Peck took it very 
quietly — it did not concern him, and he didn’t care anything 
about it. But Mrs. Peck, partly from having often seen the 
late Mr. Littlegood, and partly from being of a quick and sym- 
pathetic nature, felt greatly interested. She also felt rather in 
awe of Mr. Weazel, and that was precisely the feeling that Mr. 
Weazel was always anxious to inspire. It is astonishing how 
sharp little men love to excite respect, and even dread. 

“ Is your friend a good man she asked, after a pause. 

“ No : he’s a beast,” candidly replied Weazel. 

“ Mr. Littlegood was not a bad man, I believe ; least-ways, 
1 always heard him spoken well of at Muddleford,” observed 
Mrs. Peck. 

“ I dare say he was well enough for a haristocrat,” said 
Weazel, whose dislike made him aspirate the detested name. 

“ Don’t you think, then,” suggested Mrs. Peck, very mildly, 
“ that it would be better to leave things as they are ? It can’t 
be the fault of poor Mrs. Littlegood nor Miss Littlegood, nor 
Master Lorimer, that the grandfather got the money wrongly; 
and as they’ve been taught to consider it’s theirs, and always 
been used to all the comforts of life, it would be a shocking 
thing to turn them out of all their property ; don’t you think 
sof’ 

“I’ve nothing to do with that,” answered Weazel, with the 
air of a Rhadamanthus. “ I want justice.” 

“ But you say your friend’s a bad man ! Do you mean to 
get him his property directly 

“ No,” replied Weazel. “I haven’t got all the proofs yet- 
and the worst of it is, I don’t know where my lazy beast of a 
friend is.” 

Mrs. Peck w^as glad to hear that, but did not say so. 

“ I tell you what / think,” said Mr. Peck : and as he seldom 
communicated his thoughts, both Weazel and Mrs. Peck lis 
tened. “ I think you’d better leave this affair alone ; because, 
2 


18 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


do you see, if Mr. Littlegood or whoever it is •that has the 
money now, gets done out of it by you, of course he’ll settle 
accounts with yoi/.” 

“ How f ’ asked Weazel. 

“ Break your neck,” replied Peck. 

“ Oh, I dare say ! we live under the protection of the laws, 
and those that commit ferocious assaults are punished accord- 
ingly.” 

“ I’d chance that,” said Peck, quietly : “ and I dare say he 
will.” 

Weazel sneered; but Weazel felt far from comfortable. 
Cunning little men are not often blessed with physical courage. 

Another knock at the door was now heard, and this time it 
turned out to be Job himself. 

“ Well, Job !” cried Mrs. Peck. “ I thought you was lost.” 

“ Nothing nigh it, sister-in-law,” answered Job. 

“Have you got the situation, Job]” asked Mrs. Peck, 
anxiously. 

“ All right, sister-in-law ; I’m booked, safe enough : but ain’t 
he a rum un]” and Job grinned. 

“ Who ]” 

“ Why, my master as is to be ; he’s the rummest fellow ever 
/.see,” answered Job. 

Job was a miniature edition of his brother. He had the 
same round head and crisp curling hair : he had the large feet 
and large hands also ; but he was short and sturdy in build. 
The only thing remarkable about his face was his enormous 
mouth, which, when he laughed, and Job was almost always 
laughing, seemed literally to extend from ear to ear. 

“ I’ll tell you all about him,” said Job, looking, however, 
rather doubtingly towards Weazel, whom he evidently neither 
trusted nor liked, though poor Job was too simple a fellow to 
know why. “ First of all, he’s dressed like a Chinee, in a long 
silk gown with flowers all over it ; and a little round flowery 
cap on his head ; and flowery shoes on his feet ; and a smoking 


THE PECKS. 


19 


thing in his mouth that’s got a tail all curled round and round 
like the boar-constructor in little Tom’s book (only it ain’t so 
big,) and it fits into a great glass thing like a bell, standing on 
the floor. But he smokes it, 1 can tell you ; for I see the smoke 
coming out of his mouth.” Here Job paused a little for breath, 
and then went on. 

Says he to me, ‘ What’s your name V and I told him, 
‘Job Peck.’ Then he says, ‘How old are you V and I says, 
‘ Eighteen turned.’ And then he says, ‘ Can you fight V ” 

“ Gracious me !” cried Mrs. Peck ; “ what’s that to do with 
horses ?” 

“ ‘ Because,’ says he,” went on Job, “ ‘we may get into rows 
sometimes, and you’ll have to take your own part ;’ and so I 
tells him, ‘ I ain’t afraid of one of my own size and weight — 
nor a bigger one neither.’ Then says he, ‘ Stand up and have 
a round ;’ and he squares up at me, and I at him, and he 
knocks me over in a jiffey ; and I gets up laughing ; and he 
says, “ That ’ll do for the present,’ and I thought so too. Then 
says he, ‘ Can you tell fibs without blushing and looking stupid V 
and I answers that I’ve never tried ; and he says, he’s ‘ afraid 
I’ve been very badly brought up.’ ” 

“ He ought to be ashamed of himself,” cried Mrs. Peck, in- 
dignantly : “you’ve been very well brought up, Job — that you 
have ; and you should have told him, that though you’re poor 
you’re honest ” 

“ All right, sister-in-law,” said Job, who knew the torrent of 
eloquence that was coming. “ I did begin something of that 
sort, and he cries out, ‘ Oh yes, I know all about that — it’s in 
all the melodramas — never mind, my lad, I didn’t mean to hurt 
your feelings ; so if you like to come on Monday, you may — • 
it’s £20 a year wages, and three suits of livery — will that do 
So you see,” cried Job, triumphantly, “ he’s a trump, though 
he is such a rum un.” 

“ Did he say any more ?” asked Mrs. Peck, pacified by the 
engagement and the wages, and yet not quite at ease about the 
moral character of Job’s master. 


20 


LORIMEK LITILEGOOD. 


“ No ; just as he’d said what I tell you, a iTiancame to bring 
him the ugliest bull-dog I ever see : so I went away, and in 
the hall I saw another man waiting to see, him with a white 
monkey, which he told me was a reg’lar curiosity, and he knew 
he’d get a fifty pound note out of the governor for him — 
specially as it was cruel vicious.” 

“What’s his name. Job]” asked Mr. Weazel. 

“What] the monkey’s]” 

“ No ; your new master’s.” 

“ Oh, I’ve got it down here in print,” said Job, producing 
a card from his pocket. 

“Mr. Lorimer Littlegood,” read Weazel. 

“ Lor ?” exclaimed Mrs. Peck. 

Weazel grinned — shook ha-nds with his friends, and went 
away. 


LORIMEE, EN GARCOw. 


21 


CHAPTER III. 
Lorimer, en gargon. 


“ Rivers !” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ The hookah, and a cup of coffee.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The speakers were Mr. Lorimer Littlegood and his valet. 
The former was lounging on the most luxurious of sofas, in a 
Persian dressing-gown of rich colors and ample dimensions. 
The beautiful little Louis Quatorze time-piece on the mantle- 
shelf pointed to twelve o’clock, the table was spread with pre- 
parations for a tasteful breakfast, and the whole air of the 
apartment bore witness to the habits of its occupant. 

It was a moderate sized room — rather small than otherwise 
— but furnished in a style the most extravagant and the most 
fanciful. Every article it contained was perfect of its kind ; 
but there was a variety in the character of things selected, that 
puzzled you to decide whether the owner of them was most of 
a fetit-maitre^ a student, a sporting-man, or a rake. There 
were little gems of Sevres china worthy of the Bernal collec 
tion ; books of great variety and value, side by side with the 
last French novels; hunting-whips, fox’s brushes and muzzles, 
boxing-gloves and fencing foils ; French paintings and statu 
ettes, more truthful and beautiful than chastely delicate; meer- 
schaum and china pipe-bowls, rare snuff-boxes, medals and 
medallions, ancient coins, and beautiful vases full of the sweet 
est and freshest flowers. 

As for the mere upholstery, it was evidently chosen with a 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


view to perfect ease and comfort. The exact shade of green 
which affords the most complete repose to the eye, was the 
prevailing color ; every chair was a lounging-chair, though 
perfectly different from its neighbor ; there were not too many 
mirrors on the walls, and very little gilding ; w^hile just suf- 
ficient light was admitted through the curtains to make the 
apartment cheerful, without producing a glare. 

The obsequious valet brought the hookah and the coffee, and 
Mr. Lorimer Littlegood sipped the one and puffed away at 
the other. He was slightly altered in his personal appearance 
in the six months that had elapsed since his father’s death. 
His profusion of brown curling hair, dark-blue eyes, and well- 
shaped face, clean shaven, except on the upper lip, where grew 
a small and most carefully trained moustache, made him what 
most young ladies would call decidedly handsome. At first 
glance, however, you would imagine that there was a vacancy 
in the expression of his countenance ; but if you watched it 
carefully you might see that the vacancy was not real, but an 
assumed listlessness, which is very generally adopted by the 
juvenile members of dandyism in the present generation. A 
phrenologist would observe ample indications of sufficient in- 
tellectual powers, good moral feelings, and no great excess of 
animal passions. A physiologist would give a similar esti- 
mate of his character ; but phrenologist and physiologist both 
admit, that when any single quality of the mind is constantly 
and specially called into play, it becomes the prominent feature 
of the character and absorbs a dozen otherwise counteracting 
influences. Unfortunately, Mr. Lorimer Littlegood was now 
under the special guidance of that quality which is the cause 
of at least three fourths of the sins of the world — vanity. 

Lorimer had followed out the intentions he announced to 
Mr. Bosher. He had come to London — taken a set of hand- 
some chambers in the neighborhood of Piccadilly — furnished 
them as we have seen — purchased four horses and a little yacht 
for the summer season — joined a fast club — and, in a word, 


LOEIMEK, EN GARCON. 


23 


launched out rather extensively for a man with £1,850 a-year. 

Mr. Littlegood was still puffing his hookah, when two young 
men sauntered into his room in the free-and-easy style of inti- 
mate friends. 

“ Well, old fellow, how are you ?” cried one, who was a fine 
hearty -looking man, with a touch of the Hibernian accent. 

“ How are you, Littlegood T’ said the other one also — a lean, 
light-hared, lanky youth, who appeared as if he wanted taking 
to pieces and rebuilding, so badly was he put together. 

“ Slightly seedy,” was Mr. Littlegood’s reply to both ques- 
‘tioners — it being absolutely essential to every young man’s 
success in dandyism that he should be seedy every day ; or, 
at all events, at any hour before ten in the evening. People 
who have anything to do cannot afford to be in a decrepid state 
of health till the evening’s champagne has warmed them into 
life and activity, and therefore, in order to distinguish them- 
selves from the vulgar herd of workers and thinkers, men 
about town must be in a perpetual state, of matutinal imbe- 
cility. 

“ Where were you fellows last night he asked, in return. 

“Frightfully long debate in the House,” answered the lean 
youth ; “ didn’t divide till four in the morning.” 

“ And divided then exactly as we should have done at seven 
in the evening, before any of the speeches were made,” added 
the Irishman. 

“You are a pretty fellow to say that, O’Neil,” retorted the 
other, “ after having made a three-quarters of an hour speech 
yourself — though, to be sure, I don’t suppose that made any^- 
body vote differently from his previous intentions.” 

“ Que voulez vous answered O’Neil. “ It isn’t to change 
anybody’s opinions I speak, my boy ; and, as a member of the 
House, you ought to know that nobody else does speak for such 
a purpose. It-’s only to make people outside talk about me, 
and get up a cry over the water, maybe, for O’Neil as Attor- 
ney-General, or Chief Justice, of Commissioner of something 
or other.” 


24 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ It’s a nuisance to have to listen, though, when men talx 
for their own ends,” growled the other. 

V “ And that’s precisely what we wish it to be, Lavers,” an- 
swered O’Neil ; “ if we didn’t make ourselves nuisances we’d 
never get anything.” 

“ You may have anything you want here,” cried Lorimer, 
“ without making yourselves nuisances ; and that’s exactly 
what I shall vote you two fellows if you go on talking shop 
like that. What the deuce do I care about your stupid de- 
bates 

“ By the way, Littlegood, why don’t you go into Parlia- 
ment?” asked O’Neil. 

“ Because he hasn’t spent all his money yet, and isn’t a bit 
afraid of the sheriff — time enough then,” said Lavers, answer- 
ing for him, and looking meaningly towards O’Neil. ' 

“ True enough,” cried the Irishman, quite good humoredly ; 
“ they’re blessed privileges wx enjoy ; and if it weren’t for the 
committees that make a man get up so early, and the debates 
that keep him up so late, I should like Parliament amazingly.” 

“ You missed Mrs. Puddleton’s party last night,” said Lori- 
mer. 

“ I was there for half an hour,” answered Lavers, “ and was 
making myself remarkably comfortable with a very pretty girl 
— quite new, too — when that horrid whipper-in of our party 
came and hunted me out, looking as frightened all the time as if 
his life depended on getting me safe into the House.” 

“ His seat did — and that’s life to him,” said 0‘Neil. “ Was 
it good — the ‘ hop,’ Littlegood ?” 

“ Tolerable,” was the reply ; there were some very pretty 
girls — though who they W'ere it is utterly impossible to say. 
N<jbody ever does know where Mrs. Puddleton picks up her 
friends.” 

“ Was little Stanley there?” asked Lavers. 

“ Do you mean Miss Stanley ?” returned Lorimer, coloring 
slightly. 


LORIMEK, EN GARCON. 25 

“ Yes — Ellen Stanley ; flirting little thing, inclined to be 
pert,” replied Lavers, quietly. 

“ I shouldn’t have known her by your description, I confess,” 
said Lorimer, “though I have had the pleasure of meeting 
Miss Stanley several times ; and, between ourselves, Lavers, 
I don’t think it’s quite the right way to speak of a young lady 
— thfit which you adopted just now.” 

There was a little touch of warmth in Lorimer’s manner as 
he spoke thus ; and Lavers, cool as Wenham Lake ice, saw it, 
and inwardly chuckled at it, because it was precisely the feeling 
he had wished to elicit. 

“ My dear fellow,” he replied, “ if I had known that you 
had any penchant in that quarter I would not have ” 

“There’s no need of any particular penchant for a lady, I 
trust, to account for one’s disliking to ^hear her spoken disre- 
spectfully of by name,” said Lorimer, interrupting him. 

Mr. Lavers was relieved from the necessity of a reply by 
the entrance, at this moment, of three or four more of Lori- 
mer’s friends. The truth is that Mr. Lavers had tried to cap- 
tivate Miss Ellen Stanley, and that young lady, being unac- 
countably blind to his mental and moral attractions, had snubbed 
him accordingly ; whereupon he adopted the usual expedient 
of mean people, of abusing what he could not obtain. 

Of the new comers, one was a sporting-man, another was a 
noisy man, and another was merely an exquisite. Only one 
thing they had in common — they were all idle men, and liked 
to lounge away an hour or two every morning in a friend’s 
rooms, where tobacco and liquids were plentiful, without any 
cost to their own pockets. 

“ What are w’e all going to do ?” cried O’Neil. 

“ I’m going to the ‘ Corner,’ to set my book on the Oaks 
straight a little,” answered one. 

“ I’m going to look at a dog-cart mare that’s said to be first 
rate, and the figure not too high,” .^^^id another. 

“ I’m goijig up to Lord’s to see the first match of the season 
between our county and the Marylebone,” said another. 


26 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ I’m off to the Treasury/’ said O’Neil. 

“No doubt you are,” growled Lavers, sotto voce; “I’m 
going to make some calls. What are you going to do, Little- 
good 

“ First of all,” said Lorimer, “ I’m going to write some 
notes ; then I’m going to give half-an-hour’s instruction to a 
highly promising new tiger that I’ve engaged ; then I’m going 
to make a few purchases ; and then I shall be very happy to see 
any or all of you to dine with me here.” 

“ Bravo — agreed !” cried everybody ; and one by one they 
dropped off promising to return at eight — no fear of their for- 
getting. 

Lorimer then proceeded to write his notes, which were all 
very short. One was to his tailor — another to a horse dealer 
in the country — another to thp “ captain ” of his little yacht — 
and two of them were to ladies. Perhaps we may venture to 
take a peep at these. One of them — bah ! one of them was 
only to his sister. Nevertheless, let us see what he says : — 
“From all this, my dear sister, you will conclude that I am 
desperately in love ; but for once even your shrewd sense will 
be at fault. Ellen Stanley is pretty, fascinating, clever (a 
little too much of this), and altogether more to my taste than 
any girl I know : but, somehow, I don’t feel a bit in love with 
her. She pleases me ; pleases me very much, too. And yet 
I leave her without a pang, go home and sleep as soundly as 
if I had been talking to old Bosher instead of the handsomest 
girl in London. Can you explain this ? Why is it that my 
feelings are completely untouched f’ 

“ Because, my dear brother,” said Jessie to herself as she 
read the letter next morning — “ because you are too much in 
love with yourself just yet. No such enemy to love as vanity.” 
The other letter was to Miss Ellen Stanley’s mamma : — 

“ Your kindness in inviting me to join your little family cir- 
cle whenever I please, is most warmly appreciated by me : 
and I can scarcely imagine a more happy and charming house- 


LORIMER, EN GARCON. .^7 

hold than yours must be, if I may venture to judge from what 
I have seen of its inmates.” 

Pretty well— considering that Mr. Lorimer had seen no one 
of the lady’s family save Miss Ellen Stanley herself. 

The notes finished, Mr. Littlegood gave the promised half- 
hour’s lesson to our friend Job Peck, made an elaborate toilet, 
stepped into his cabriolet, and drove down Piccadilly with Job 
perched up behind — his first appearance on that “ proud emi- 
nence.” 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 




CHAPTER IV. 

POOR LITTLE ROSE. 

In a dirty; little, narrow court, in one of the worst parts of 
Lambeth, dwelt one William Bennoch — commonly called 
“ Staggering Bill ” — with his wife and two children. 

He was once a blacksmith, and he styled himself one still ; 
but being in a perpetual state of drunkenness, as his soubriquet 
implies, he seldom worked till reduced to the verge of starva- 
tion, or rather till he was unable to procure another glass of 
spirits — for it is astonishing what a small quantity of solid food 
was ever consumed by “Staggering Bill.” 

The worst of Bill was, that he was the most morose and ill- 
tempered of brutes when the fumes of the drink first began to 
pass off ; so that it almost tempted those around him to give 
him some liquor to preserve the good humor, which seemed 
habitual to him while quite drunk. 

His wife was one of those strange beings, so commonly 
mated with drunkards, that puzzle you to decide what their 
natural and original character was. She was a shrew and a 
coward together ; but you could not tell whether her temper 
had always been at fault, or whether the continued misery of 
her life had given her the scolding tongue. When Bill was 
maudlin he was often sentimental, and would weep as he told 
you that “ that there woman’s blessed tongue had druv him to 
drink.” But then it is a remarkable fact, that people who are 
drunkards have always, according to their owui accounts, been 
“ driven to it ” by something or somebody ; it never, in the 
least degree arises from their own depraved appetites. 


POOK LITTLE EOSE. 


29 


Mrs. Beiinoch, perhaps, might more reasonably say that she 
had been driven to drink ; for certainly she occasionally flew 
to the bottle for consolation when distracted by her husband’s 
brutality and their state of destitution. Apparently she had 
been handsome once ; at least her features were well formed ; 
but, then, the haggard, lean countenance, and the often blood- 
shot eyes, destroyed the effect of the original beauty. Nor 
did her dirty and tattered dress diminish the repulsive effect 
of her face and her tall bony figure. 

As far as the vice of intoxication went, the difference between 
Bill and herself was this : that Bill was always drunk, or had 
just been so and was just going to be so again ; while she was 
often sober for weeks together. She took in washing when she 
could get any ; but having the misfortune occasionally to drop 
a few things into the fire, and often to scorch others brown, 
she was not likely to be a popular or highly patronized laun- 
dress. Had it not been for the strong feeling of benevolence 
displayed by the poor to the poor, she would have wanted 
both work and bread more often than she did. 

“ Dick ! you young vagabone, come here,” screamed Mrs. 
Bennoch to her son ; “ where is the brat, hang him I” she con- 
tinued, as she got no answer. 

‘‘ Dare say he’s in the Grapes,” suggested her husband, who 
was in the three-quarter stage. 

“ What should he do there ?” she answered snappishly ; ‘‘ do 
you think he’s going to be as big a sot as his father 

“ What’s the odds '1” hiccupped Bill, sublimely indifferent 
and perfectly good-tempered. 

“ Ugh, you brute !” cried Mrs. B., and she went out into the 
court and screamed “ Dick !” at the top of her voice, besides 
inquiring of all her neighbors whether they had seen her hope- 
ful son. She also took a peep in at the Grapes (but to her 
credit be it said, she did not take a glass there)*, and at last re- 
turned home without finding the truant Dick. 

“ If you weren’t such a drunken, lazy brute, you might take 


30 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


these things home for one yourself,” she screamed to her hus- 
band. 

“ All right, old girl ; I'll take ’em — why shouldn’t I V an- 
swered Bill, in his best of tempers, and making an effort to 
get up. 

“ Don’t be a fool,” cried his wife. “ A pretty likely thing 
that I’d send you to Mrs. Travers’s, my best customer, and the 
only lady I work for now ; I shouldn’t see another thing of hers 
nor a bit of her money again.” 

“ What’s-the-matter-o’-me ?” asked the innocent Bill, as if 
perfectly unconscious that he was not fit to be presented to any 
lady in the land. 

Mrs. Bennoch disdained to answer, but continued her own 
remarks, talking rather to herself than her husband. 

If Eose wasn’t so timid 1 might send her ; but it’s a plaguy 
long way for Eose — poor little Eose ;” and strange to say, as 
the woman uttered that name all her vixenish and vicious looks 
vanished, and there was a soft and womanlike expression, half- 
smiling and half-tearful, on her haggard and worn face. 

And who w^as Eose — poor Eose *? 

Eight well had her mother said “ poor Eose for what fate 
could be^harder for a young girl than to live in such a home, 
and with such parents, as those of little Eose Bennoch ? 

A strange child was Eose— her mother had insisted on giv- 
ing her that name — for ever hiding in dark corners, and sitting 
so still that a listener could scarcely have heard her breathing. 
A little, slight, delicate child she looked, with her large, very 
large, dark eyes, and their long black fringes, contrasting with 
the white pale skin of her face. She never smiled — or so rarely 
that few of the neighbors had ever seen her do so. Even 
Dick, her brother, had never succeeded in making her laugh. 
Her face had an almost constant expression of terror, or at 
least of apprehension ; but mingled with the look of fear was 
a strange and almost sinister look of cunning, like that of a 
person habituated to falsehood and stratagem. You will see it 


POOR LITTLE ROSE. 


31 


in the professional pickpocket, and in the detective policeman ; 
in the smuggler, the sheriff’s officer, and the sharp attorney ; 
and equally in the ill-treated wife, or child, of the domestic 
tyrant. Not that Rose was ill-treated ; she always kept out 
of her father’s way, and she was the only creature for wffiom 
her mother had any real affection. Yet Rose was almost as 
much afraid of her mother as of her father ; she heard her 
scolding tongue, and she had seen her several times intoxicated. 
So Rose seldom came out into the light of day, but crept into 
dark corners, and hid herself, and dreamt long day-dreams of 
the world outside their narrow court, of which she rarely ever 
had a glimpse. 

She had a book always with her — one and the same book. 
It was not so much for the pleasure of reading the book that 
she thus keptdt, but because it had two pictures in it : one 
was a simple picture of a fiimily at breakfast in a comfortably 
furnished room, with a smiling mama, a very precisely dressed 
papa, and three extremely neat and good-looking children. 
And Rose would look at the picture for hours in her dark 
corner, till her large eyes ached, and envy (but she did not 
know that^it was envy she felt) the happy children in their 
happy home. 

The other picture represented a simple English landscape 
with a church, and weaving trees, and a stile, on which sat a 
young lady in a light summer costume, with a broad-brimmed 
straw hat, like those wherein our sisters again luxuriate in 
these latter days. And this picture pleased Rose even more 
than the other : she had never seen the country, never beheld 
any other foliage than that of the squares and parks of sooty 
London, and that seldom enough ; yet' she would sigh for the 
fields and trees she saw here depicted, and long to be the happy 
girl seated on the stile. 

“ Rose dear. Rose !” cried her mother, in such gentle tones, 
that a stranger would scarcely have known the voice to be the 
same as a few minutes before was screaming in the court, or 
scolding the drunken husband. 


32 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


A little rustling might be heard in the further corner of the 
room, behind a large washing-tub turned up on its side, and 
Eose came out, with her book hidden under her apron, and 
glided quietly to her mother’s side. 

“ Would you be afraid to go a long way off with these 
clothes, Eose — all by yourself?” 

“No,” answered Eose; and she spoke the truth, for she 
scarcely knew what fear meant, except in connection with her 
father or mother. 

“ It’s a very long way,” said her mother. 

“ Is it, is it,” asked Eose, hesitating — “ is it in the country ?” 
having, however, but the vaguest idea of where the country 
was. 

“ No, it ain’t so far as all that, dear,” said her mother ; and 
Eose was sorry to hear it. “ It’s only nigh to Berkeley 
Square, where Mrs. Travers lives : that’s the nice kind lady 
that came herself one day you know, and patted you on the 
head, and said you ought to go to school ; and so you ought, 
goodness knows, for you’re nigh thirteen — but it can’t be 
helped. The bundle ain’t a heavy one, for it’s only some fine 
things. Lawk a mercy knows how she trusts such things to 
me ; but she does^ and we’d often go without a bit of bread if 
she didn’t. Are you hungry, Eose ?” 

“ No, mother,” answered the girl. 

“ But you’ve had nothing to-day — the child will be starved,” 
she said. 

“ I’m not hungry, mother — indeed I’m not,” replied Eose. 

“ Poor child 1” muttered the mother once more ; and the 
tears stood in her eyes, as she turned away to fasten up the 
bundle. 

“ May I take my book ?” asked Eose, as she saw her mother 
looking at her. 

“ You can’t look at it in the street,” said her mother ; “ you’d 
better leave it at home.” 

“ Let me take it, please, do,” said Eose, beseechingly. 


POOR LITTLE ROSE. 


33 


“Very well, dear — let me put it in your pocket — there, 
that’ll do. What a strange child it is !” she added, as she 
watched little Bose’s form retreating down the court ; and 
then the mother turned back and cast a look of loathing on 
her drunken husband snoring on the bed. 

Bose went steadily on her way, looking about her very lit- 
tle, yet observing everything that came directly in her sight 
with more than the usual childish curiosity. And many a 
passer-by turned back to look at the raggedly clad, poor, thin 
child, with her large dark eyes, and that strange expression 
wherein was so much of meaning — so much intellect, cunning, 
and timidity. 

Many times had Bose to ask her way ; for the fashionable 
quarters of London were a wilderness to her ; but she never 
applied to a policeman for her information, because she had more 
than once seen her father in the hands of one of those officials, 
and looked with a little dread on them. She had reached as 
far as the Begent’s Circus, in Piccadilly, where she became 
bewildered by the number of carriages and horses eternally 
passing by in four directions. The chance of ever getting over 
that terribly wide crossing seemed to her almost a hopeless 
one, and she stood nearly ten minutes waiting for one. At 
length there was a slight lull of traffic for a moment, and she 
managed to rush to the landing-place, with the lamp-post in 
the centre, half across the road. Here she had to stop again 
for some time ; then fancying she had a chance, but looking 
only one way instead of both, she started off again. There 
was a loud yell to her from some foot-passengers as a splen- 
didly appointed cabriolet was being driven past at the very 
moment ; the driver pulled his horse almost back on to its 
haunches, as he uttered a cry 6f terror himself — the child hesi- 
tated at the very moment when she should have leapt forward, 
and in an instant she was knocked down and was actually 
under the horse’s feet. 

She was speedily dragged from thence, and the owner of 
the cabriolet jumped out, exclaiming — 

a 


34 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


‘‘ My God ! she is killed !” 

“ No, no — she ain’t killed ; but she must have some of her 
bones broken.” 

“ Carry her in here — give her to me,” cried the young man, 
who forgot all his dandyism and everything else at the mo- 
ment, in his anxiety for the poor child he had unwittingly 
injured. “ Run for a doctor, for God’s sake !” 

Poor little Rose was conveyed into a shop close at hand, 
and a doctor was soon in attendance. 

“ Small bone of the left leg broken,” said he, “ but not a 
bad fracture, I think ; blow on the head, which has stunned 
her — ^but not very severe. I should recommend, sir,^’ he con- 
tinued, “ that she should be conveyed to Charing Cross Hos- 
pital.” 

“ Get a cab,” cried the young man whom he addressed ; 
“be quick — is there any better way of conveying her, doctor?” 

“ No but she must be driven slowly, and if she can lie on 

some one’s lap who will keep the limb ihus^ it will be better. 

“ She shall— she shall,” was the answer, and the young man 
slipped a couple of guineas into the surgeon’s hand, and then 
bidding those in attendance to carry the child carefully to the 
cab, he first seated himself in it, and then, having her carefully 
placed on his lap, he held her as tenderly as a mother could 
have held her infant, and bade the driver go gently to the 
hospital. 

“ Poor child ! poor child !” he said, “ poor enough she looks, 
indeed — ragged, I see— and thin, very thin. By Jove! I be- 
lieve she’s half-starved : people are so, I know— and yet I often 
forget it — God forgive me ! She’s not plain — indeed, she’s 
pretty. What a fair skin — and what jet-black eyelashes ! I 
wonder who she is? Well, I swear she shall never want for 
2 -nything while I live on earth 1” 

Five minutes later, little Rose was stretched on one of the 
hospital beds, and a surgeon was engaged in setting the broken 
bone. He did not consider it a bad case. 


POOK LITTLE KOSE. 35 

“ Thank Heaven ! don’t let her want for anything — I will 
pay for all,” cried the young man. 

And Lorimer Littlegood went away. He had seen a bit of 
life he did not expect to see : and much more strange experh 
ence was thereby in store for him. 


36 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER V. 

STAGGERING BILL RECEIVES A MORNING CALL. 

Mr. Bill Bennoch was not a man of intensely strong pater- 
nal affection. Therefore, when Mrs. Bennoch attempted to 
rouse him out of his drunken sleep at nine o’clock in the even 
ing, and told him that poor little Rose was lost, “ Staggering 
Bill” merely replied that “if she was lost it war’nt no use 
looking for her ; ” with which perfectly true, though scarcely 
paternal, reflection, he turned over on his side and attempted 
to go to sleep again. But the mother, whose agony of mind at 
hearing no tidings of her child grew more painful every mo- 
ment, seized a tub of water in which she had been washing 
some clothes, and emptied it all over “ Staggering Bill.” 

If there was one thing Bill hated more than another it was 
water. He disliked it at any time, in any form, and for any 
purpose. As for drinking it pure, he would as soon have 
thought of swallowing Prussic acid ; even when diluting his 
grog with it, he was of the Irishman’s opinion, that every drop 
of it helped to spoil the spirit. To perform an ablutioif in it 
was the farthest thing from his thoughts. Baths and wash- 
houses, instead of attracting thousands to them daily, would 
certainly have been immediately shut up for want of patronage 
if all people had been of Mr. Bennoch’s peculiar opinions. 
When, therefore, he was thoroughly soused by the flood of soap 
and water which his wife dashed over him, he sprung up with 
a tremendous oath, and caught everything he could lay his 
hands on, including the washing-tub, and hurled them fran- 
tically at the spot where his wife had stood. But Mrs. Ben- 


A MOENING CALL. 


37 


noch knew the effect of her own attack too well to await the 
result, and so she was safe outside the door while Bill was 
shivering to pieces his “ household gods” (as Lord Byron called 
his furniture), but hurting nobody. 

When he could find nothing more to hurl, and discovered 
that there w^as no one to hurl anything at, he swore all the 
oaths he was acquainted with (and few people had a more ex- 
tensive knowledge of the subject), till his tongue and his arms 
were together thoroughly tired out. Then he turned to the 
bed, and was going to fling himself on it again ; but so tho- 
roughly saturated was it with wet that he had not the courage 
to do so. He picked up a chair and sat down, and growled 
and muttered, and felt savage and damp and fuddled, and was 
perhaps altogether as uncomfortable as a man well could be. 
He had nothing to drink, and no money wherewith to procure 
anything ; there was no fire and no light in the room, except 
what was afforded by the single gaslight burning in the centre 
of the court in which his house stood. 

After he had been growling for some time, and making vain 
attempts to settle himself into a comfortable doze, the door of 
the room was gently opened, and a small rough head put cau- 
tiously in. 

“ Who’s there ” cried Bill, with a sudden start, as the door 
creaked. 

“ It’s only me, father,” was the reply : “ where’s mother?” 

It will be as well not to transcribe the words of Bill’s an- 
swer to this question. They certainly frightened his son Dick 
a little, but not so much as a stranger might have expected ; for 
Dick was not easily alarmed at his father’s violence. Words 
he cared little for at all ; and having discovered that if he got 
a fair start his father could never catch him, and that if his 
father threw anything at him he could almost always jump out 
of the way in time to save his bones, he had no great fear for 
his personal safety, especially as he always took care that his 




38 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


respected parent, when in a rage, should not get between him 
and the door. 

“ What’s become of Kose, eh 1 ” asked Bill of his hopeful 
son. 

“ Don’t know, father. Mother sent me to look, and I’ve 
been every wheres — all the way to Mrs. What’s-her-name that 
she was a carryin’ the clothes to : but they haven’t heerd 
nothin’ of her.” 

“ She’s prigged the clothes and pawned ’em for liquor,” said 
Bill, doggedly — such being precisely what Bill knew he should 
have done himself. 

That she ain’t,” cried Dick, indignantly; “ Rose ain’t up to 
such things, and Rose don’t drink liquor.” 

Bill’s answer was to whirl his fist in the direction of his son’s 
head ; but Dick “ bobbed,” and the stroke missed him, while 
it nearly upset Mr. William Bennoch himself. 

“ You young vagabone !” growled he. 

“You leave me alone then, can’t you?” cried Dick, who 
was very fond of being saucy when he knew he could escape 
the consequences. 

Bill for a moment entertained the idea of recommencing hos- 
tilities ; but perhaps it struck him that the exertion would be 
too great, and so he sat still and only growled. 

“ Dick,” said he, after a pause — “ have you got any money ?” 

“ No, father,” was the short reply. 

“ Don’t tell lies, Dick : you know you have,” cried Bill, 
half surlily and half coaxingly. 

“ Well, if a poor boy has got just one single penny, mayn’t 
a poor chap keep it for hisself ? ” whined Dick. 

“ Lend it me, Dick. I’ll pay it back to-morrow.” 

“ Oh ! I dare say, ” said Dick : “ you owe me fourpence 
already, and don’t I wish I may get it?” 

“ I tell you what, Dick,” continued the exemplary father, 
without noticing the last speech, “ just go to the Grapes and 
get a penn’orth of gin and bring it here, and you shall have 


A MOKNING CALL. 39 

half of it, and I’ll pay you back all the money to-morrow — I’ll 
make it sixpence — there now.” 

Dick had a strong presentiment that he should be “ done” 
somehow ; but the temptation was too great to be resisted ; 
and so he went on his errand. 

Dick Bennoch was a thorough London boy ; and the boys of 
London are as distinctive a class of human beings as the North 
American Indians. You will not find their counterparts all 
over the world. A Paris gamin slightly assimilates to them, 
but is a very different animal nevertheless. A thorough-bred 
London boy, like our friend Dick, is invariably dirty, sharp, 
and of doubtful honesty. If he be deficient in either of these 
distinctive marks, he is not of the true breed. Cleanliness is 
utterly abjured by this juvenile fraternity ; a stupid fellow is 
sent to Coventry, or imposed on, or made a butt of, so that he 
is obliged to retire from their respectable society. And then 
their sharpness is of that peculiar cast that loves roguery, and 
finds its most pleasant exercise in cheating the unsuspecting — 
not exactly in downright thieving, pocket-picking, and so forth ; 
for there is a line of distinction between the class we are speak- 
ing of and the juvenile pickpockets — but in petty roguery and 
chicanery of all kinds. It is the fun of the thing they love — 
the excitement of the game, quite as much as the stakes they 
play for. A London boy will be happier with a penny got by 
a clever trick of his own, than with a fourpenny piece bestowed 
on him without solicitation or exertion on his part. 

After all, perhaps, the only real distinction between the mere 
London boy and the young thief is — that accident, or some- 
body’s care (Heaven knows whose), has prevented the former 
from yet joining the latter. Of course they are the raw mate- 
rial out of which the pickpockets are formed, and it is surprising 
how little training they require to make them adepts in the 
“ art of abstracting.” 

The London boy seldom Knows how to write or read, but 
he is wonderfully quick at figures. Try to get the better of 


f 


40 LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 

him in any matter of calculation, and you will soon give up the 
attempt in despair. How' he performs his mental arithmetic 
it might puzzle us to say, or himself to tell you ; but the 
results of his ready reckoning are always perfectly correct, 
except when they are wilfully incorrect in his own favor. 
There is, also, a complete freemasonry among the class : let a 
London boy meet a lad in the street whom he has never seen 
before, and he will tell, almost at a glance, but certainly after 
two minutes’ conversation with him, whether he is of “ the 
right sort” — whether he belongs to the honorable fraternity of 
London boys, or is a novice, a greenhorn, a “ muff.” 

How the London boy lives it is difficult to say. He gener- 
ally has a parent, sometimes both ; for he is apt to turn thief 
or workhouse boy when he is an orphan. So that he generally 
has a home of some kind, where he will occasionally have a bit 
of food tossed to him as if he were a dog, and with the addition 
of a few ugly names thrown at him at the same time and an 
imprecation for not getting his own living. Considering that 
he has never been taught anything useful in his life, it is 
scarcely astonishing that he possesses no ready means of earn- 
ing his livelihood. He manages, however, to pick up two or 
three shillings every week by holding horses, running on er- 
rands, and winning at pitch-and-toss with less skilful players 
than himself. 

His notions of the distinctions of society are rather limited. 
All men who are well dressed he calls nobs and swells, and 
supposes them to be pretty much on an equality with each 
Other, and to have every earthly thing they want. Whence 
come their revenues he knows not, and never troubles his head 
to consider. Perhaps he fancies they have their wealth all 
stowed away in big boxes at home, or that the Queen sends it 
to them ; but all he does know is, that he should like to stand 
in their shoes, and to wear their coats and eat their dinners. 

But while w'e are describing the class our own specimen of 
it has returned from, the Grapes, and brought the gin. 


\ 


A MOKNING CALL. 41 

Bill Bennoch put the mug to his mouth and gulped it all 
down, forgetting his promise to give his son the half of it. 

“ It’s all a cheat, Dick,” he cried — “ they give you bad 
measure.” 

“ Too sharp for that, father,’’ replied Dick, chuckling ; “ but 
you see I drank my half first, ’cos I thought you might forget 
to give it me.” 

As soon as he said this he dived to escape the blow that he 
knew would be aimed at him, and he escaped from the room, 
while Bill, whose last exertion made him completely lose his 
balance, found himself stretched on the floor ; and thinking 
that it would do as well as any other place, under the circum- 
stances, he remained there. 

In the morning, when Mr. Bennoch awoke, the sunlight was 
streaming into his room through the dirty window. The only 
chance the sun had of penetrating his apartment was early in 
the morning ; and its rays happening to fall right on to the 
eyelids of the slumbering Bill, it is scarcely surprising that they 
woke him. It took him some time to make out where he was, 
and a great deal longer to remember how he came there. And 
certainly, when he looked about him, the view was far from 
inviting or satisfactory. Tables, chairs, washing-tubs, crockery, 
and pewter-pots w^ere heaped together in extraordinary con- 
fusion, and in a greater or less degree of dilapidation. He was 
the sole occupant of the room ; for his wife had spent the night 
in the streets fruitlessly searching after her missing daughter ; 
while Dick, who considered his father dangerous at present, 
had prudently taken up his quarters with one of his intimate 
“ pals” in the neighborhood. 

A knocking at the door aroused Bill’s attention. 

“ Come in !” he cried ; and, making sure that it was his wife, 
he seized a broken piece of a washing-tub ready to hurl it at her 
head. But his benevolent intentions were frustrated by the 
entranceof a man, instead of his beloved spouse. The man was 


42 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


a gentleman, too : and his appearance formed a strong contrast 
with that of the drunken brute on the floor. 

“Who are you?” cried Bill, with a vague idea that it 
might be a policeman ; “ I haven’t been beating anybody — I’ve 
a right to smash my own things if I like, haven’t I ? What’s 
it to you ? I haven’t got five shillings, so it’s no use taking me 
up before the beaks — it’s only a shocking expense to the coun- 
try to have to keep me in prison, that’s wot it is — you know 
the beak said so last time himself ; so leave me alone, can’t 
you ?” 

“ Is your name Bennoch ?” asked the new comer, unheeding 
this grand speech. 

“ You’ve got it all right in the charge-book — Lor’ bless you ! 
the sergeant knows me well enough — it wouldn’t do for me to 
give a false name : everybody knows Bill Bennoch — ‘ Stagger- 
ing Bill,’ the vagabonds calls him.” 

“ I believe you’ve got a daughter ?” said the gentleman. 

“ She’s bolted — prigged all the linen and popped it for drink,” 
stuttered Bill, who seemed to have convinced himself of the 
truth of what he was saying. 

“ For shame, sir !” cried the gentleman; “ I tell you your 
poor child is in the hospital with a broken leg.” 

“ Who’s broke it ?” cried Bill ; “ one of them lobsters, I 
suppose — they’re always breaking people’s limbs, they are.” 

Lorimer Littlegood was dreadfully disgusted. The man was 
apparently dead to all feeling ; for even the news of his child’s 
sufferings produced no effect on him. 

“ Where’s your wife ?” he asked angrily. 

“Drunk,” said Bill, “quite drunk — smashed everything in 
the place and gone to the Grapes — she’s got tick there and I 
haven’t — that’s all about it.” 

“ I wonder whether there are any neighbors of this brute 
that I can talk to,” said Lorimer to himself. “ My God ! what 
a home for the poor child !” And he was leaving the room. 

“ Hi ! hi !” shouted Bill, “ can’t you stand something before 


A lifOKNlNQ CALL. 


a3 


you go ? You see my wife’s been and beaten me almost to a 
jelly, and I want something to set me up again — I haven’t got a 
nag — and no tick at the Grapes.” 

Lorimer banged the door in disgust, and left Bill alone. 

“ He’s no gentleman,” said Bill ; “ he’s a hippopotamus — 
that’s what he is and he lay down again with his head under 
the dresser and snored. 

Scarcely had Lorimer got outside the house when a woman 
with a wild and haggard look met him. 

“ What is it, sir ? what is it about my child, sir 1 the neigh- 
bors say you’ve come about her.” 

“ Are you Mrs. Bennoch ?” asked Lorimer, 

“ Yes, yes.” 

Your little girl has had an accident,” said Lorimer, gently ; 
“ but don’t be alarmed ; it is not serious, and she is well taken 
care of.” 

‘‘ Take me to her — please, sir, take me to her,” cried the 
woman, frantically. 

“ I will — indeed, I will,” said Lorimer ; and in five minutes 
more they were rattling through the streets, side by side, in a 
hack cab, driving towards Charing Cross Hospital. 

“ I wonder what sort of child this would have been,” thought 
Lorimer, as he saw her clasped in her mother’s arms, “ if both 
parents had been alike, drunken brutes ?” 

Yet Rose was scarcely so pleased to see her mother as a 
stranger would have expected ; and her eyes wandered from 
her to the form of the handsome young stranger, on whom she 
gazed with a look of intense inquiry, yet half bewilderment. 


H 


LOKIMEK LITTLE^ilOOD. 


I 


CHAPTER VI. 

AFTER THE OPERA. 

One of the most incontrovertible of ancient laws is that 
which declares that no one is wise omnibus horis. Our friend 
Lorimer, so far from affording anj exception to the truth cf this 
maxim, exemplified it in the highest degree ; for he was wise so 
very few hours out of the twenty-four, that the effects of his 
wisdom were rarely visible. People who resolve to see life — 
to know the world, and so forth — generally start on their ex- 
pedition with the idea that they are going to have a pleasant 
voyage. No doubt they calculate on a few foul winds, an oc- 
casional collision, and a loose linch-pin or two ; but such trifles 
weigh but slightly with the agremens of travel. How different 
is the reality ! There is little picturesque, entertaining, or 
pleasing, in any sense, to be found in the Life-journey ; at all 
events, after the first charm of novelty has worn off, and the 
traveller sees things in their proper light, instead of through 
the spectacles of curiosity and surprise. And by degrees 
weariness and disgust creep upon him : he is tired of the tur- 
moil, and out of humor with his fellow-travellers : he has found 
the world less good, less wise, and less amusing than he ex- 
pected it : and he is far from satisfied with the part he himself 
has played in it. The journey is over : he takes to his bed — 
thinks how much better he might have employed his time — 

knows that it is “ too late turns his face to the wall, and 

yes, the journey is over. 

All this may be very trite and very true : but it will bear 
repetition. Every day young gentleman are starting on this 


AFTER THE OPERA. 


45 


same voyage “ to see life,” with the same hopes and aspirations, 
the same anticipations of delight, as had been felt by all their 
predecessors on the road, though any one of those who had 
gone before them would have told them how completely they 
were destined to be disappointed. And yet they would never 
have believed them. When it was first said that “ Experience 
teaches” — no matter whom — there was more in the saying than 
we generally assign to it. Not onl}^ does experience teach, but it 
teaches the only lessons we really learn and take to heart. All 
the good counsel in the world — all the sound maxims — all the 
wise warnings — all the recorded truths — will not deter a man 
from an act of folly so effectually as the fact of his having once 
experienced the evil effects of that act. Wise heads have tried to 
reform human nature for some five or six thousand years — it re- 
mains pretty much as it was in the beginning. A little polish 
here, and a dab of paint there, to make it look better perhaps ; but 
the substance, the core, is of the same old material yet. Well, 
it is God’s work, after all and it may occasionally strike tran 
scendentalists and cynics that, perchance, poor Human Nature 
was intended to be what it is and always has been. 

If this little disquisition is apropos of anything, it is of the fact 
that Mr. Lorimer Littlegood was remarkably like the rest of 
the world : and if, when he does foolish and wicked actions and 
gets into scrapes, the reader feel disposed to be indignant with 
him and call him ugly names, let him or her be assured that 
Lorimer is no worse than his fellows, and that his biographer is 
sketching from life, and not drawing fancy portraits of impossi- 
ble heroes. 

Lorimer was now in the very first stage of his journey. He 
had not even learnt that last night’s champagne is never worth 
this morning’s headache : on the contrary, he quaffed the cup 
with delight, and made the best of the headache with the aid 
of hock and soda-water. Happy youth ! yes, happy if you 
were not destined to those abominable desillusions that remind 
one of awaking from some delicious dream of Paradise, to find 


46 


LORIMER LITTLRGOOD. 


that it is a snowing morning, the shaving water is hard, your 
razors won’t cut, there’s nothing nice for breakfast, and two 
creditors with very long bills are waiting down stairs to see 
you. 

It is half-past twelve o’clock at night — why should we call 
it morning ? — the Opera is over, and supper is served in a 
snug little room in Violette’s Club. The supper is for six, and 
six gentlemen are there to partake of it. First, there is Mr. 
Lorimer Littlegood — then there is Mr. Lavers, and Mr. O’Neil, 
the Count Roussillon, Tom Baker, and Captain Kelly. 

The gentle reader is already acquainted with the first three 
gentlemen : the fourth, was a French Count of multitudinous 
accomplishments, imposing personal appearance, wonderful re- 
sources, but unknown revenues. The fifth was a very good, 
straightforward, jolly country gentleman, whose only weak- 
ness was an occasional run up to London in order to mix, for 
about a fortnight at a time, with the very fastest men upon 
town, and get rid of as much ready cash in that period as would 
support his establishment in Sufiblk during the rest of the 
year. 

The last on the list, the great Captain Kelly — how shall I 
describe him ? Imagine the height of everything big and as- 
tounding ; picture to yourself six feet two of sinew, bone, and 
muscle, that would have constituted any decent boxer cham- 
pion of the prize ring ; conceive a very full and florid face, 
with the most tremendous of decidedly red whiskers, and a 
crop of hair of the same hue and proportionately luxuriant in 
curl and quantity ; think of the very extreme of fashion in the 
shape, make, and material of a gentleman’s costume ; fancy a 
loud, rich-toned, and commanding voice, with the strongest 
taste of the Hibernian brogue ; an air of the most perfect ease 
and self-satisfaction ; a conviction of being able to do every 
earthly thing — from governing a kingdom to standing on his 
head, from commanding the forces at Sebastopol to playing on 
the cornet-a-piston — better than any other created being ; an 


AFTEE THE OPEEA. 


47 


eye that never quailed, a cheek that never blushed, a mouth 
that for ever smiled — add all these things and qualities togeth- 
er, (with fifty others that we have forgotten at the moment,) 
and voila our friend Captain Kelly. 

Captain of what ? Of anything and of everything — sure> 
he’d served in the Guards and in the Baliinabraggin Militia — 
in the Austrian Imperial Guard and the Texan Fencibles — in 
the Spanish Legion and the army of the Rajah of Trinchinapoli 
— in the Illinois Volunteers and in the body-guard of the Grand 
Llama of Thibet. If you ventured to ask him where he had 
seen service, indeed, there was scarcely a spot of earth, from 
Nova Zembla to Terra del Fuego, that could escape his enu- 
meration as the scene of some of his martial services and ex- 
ploits. He would crush you beneath a mountain of names of 
places that it would be utterly impossible to remember the 
fiftieth part of, that you never heard of before to your recol- 
lection, and that would take you a considerably long time to 
discover in any atlas yet given to the world by geographers. 

There were only two points on which Captain Kelly declined 
to be communicative ; or would have declined if any one had 
been ill-bred enough to press for information — where he lived, 
and how he lived. It is just possible that the reader and I may 
live to discover both these doubtful and puzzling things. 

Supper was served, and an excellent supper it was. The 
wine, too, was good and deliciously cool : the servants waited 
well, and the feasters were men who appreciated all these ad- 
vantages. 

“ Did you see Mrs. M’Shane to-night, Count ?” asked Lori- 
mer. 

“ Yes, I see her : she is beautiful woman,” replied the Count. 

“ You know her history, of course?” remarked O’Neil. 

“ Not entirely,” replied Lorimer — “ except that report says 
she had fifty thousand pounds, and that your extremely sensi- 
ble countryman, her present husband, ran away with her ia 
consideration of her attractions.” 


48 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ That’s not exactly true,” said O’Neil ; “ she had not quite 
so much as that — about thirty thousand, 1 believe.” 

“ I have heard, and I believe I’m right,” said Lavers, “that 
she never had more than twenty thousand, and also that she 
ran away with some one else before she finally ran to win the 
amiable M’Shane.” 

“ The divil a one of you is quite right,” cried Captain Kelly, 
“ though my friend Lavers is nearer the mark than any of 
you.” 

“ What is the truth, then, Kelly ?” asked Tom Baker, who 
had hitherto taken no part in the conversation, from not being 
very well “ up ” in the latest London scandal, but who was 
eager enough to become acquainted with it. 

“ I ought to know the truth. Baker, my boy,” returned the 
Captain, “ seeing that I’ve been particularly well acquainted 
with the lady myself.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! a confession from the Captain,” said two or three 
of the party. “ Tell us the story, Kelly, like a good fellow.” 

“ It’s no story, but the gospel truth, my boys,” returned 
Kelly. May be you don’t know that I ran away with Polly 
Plight that was^ and Polly M’Shane that is, myself 1” 

A roar of laughter followed this announcement. 

“ It’s true then,” cried the Captain, “ and I wouldn’t mention 
it only among such friends as yourselves — for, of course, you 
wouldn’t demean yourselves by repeating a word I’m going to 
tell you.” 

“ Certainly not — go on,” cried everybody. 

“ Well then, here goes,” said the Captain, and first of all 
he drained a half tumbler of champagne. “ I was introduced 
to Polly Flight — Miss Mary Flight, I mean — about two years 
ago, and every one swore she had fifty thousand pounds. Now, 
I’m not a mercenary man,” (here the Captain looked boldly 
round to see if anybody was laughing, but miraculously every 
one kept his countenance,) “ and so 1 didn’t care for the money 
much : but Polly is a very pretty girl, as you’ll all admit.” 


AFTER THE OPERA. 


49 


“ Very,” cried the Englishmen. 

“ Superbe^^^ said the French Count. 

“ Then, you see, it was quite natural that I should fall in 
love with Polly Flight — and I did fall in love with her. There 
were two or three miserable little hangers-on, I found, who 
wanted her fortune — an Ensign of Foot — a Captain of Cavalry, 
with no income but his pay, and a white moustache — a parson 
without a living — and a landed gentleman with his estate mort- 
gaged to the last acre of its value. It didn’t take Phil Kelly 
long to go by such cattle as these. I pretty soon persuaded 
Polly that they were nothing more than a set of miserable 
fortune-hunters that wanted her money and not herself— and 
she sent them all packing in no time. When the coast was 
clear I made play myself, and perhaps you’ll excuse me, gentle- 
men, from telling you how long it took me to become the ac- 
cepted suitor of Miss Mary Flight. I don’t wish to brag, and 
it’s just likely you might think I was bragging if I mentioned 
the time.” 

DonH mention it, pray,” said Lorimer. 

“Well, then,” resumed the Captain, after another draught 
of champagne, “ I was the accepted lover of the beautiful 
Polly. But Polly had a father, and, as I’m a living soul, 
gentlemen, this insolent old vagabond dared to oppose our 
union ! He wanted all the particulars of my property ; he 
wanted the dates of my commissions in the various armies in 
which I had the honor, and the glory too, to serve ; he wanted 
the history of my family-r-I don’t know what the fellow’s im- 
pertinent curiosity didrCt want.” 

“ Monstrous !” cried Lavers, with mock horror ; “ of course, 
you didn’t satisfy him on any point ?” 

“ But I did,” replied Kelly ; “ I offered him the satisfaction 
of a gentleman. I told him he might choose his own weapons 
— anything from a pistol to a handspike, and his own ground 
— anywhere from the Twelve Acres to the Boulogne Sands — 


4 


60 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


and what did the fellow do ? He called me a murderer, and 
he locked me out of his house !” 

“ And so ended your adventure with Miss Flight, eh said 
Lorimer. 

“ Mr. Littlegood,” replied the Captain gravely, “ if anybody 
but a gentleman that I have such a respect for as yourself had 
made that remark, I should have requested him to name his 
friend and settle time, place, and weapons. Is it Phil Kelly 
that would be afraid of bolts and bars 1 Gentlemen, I made 
short work of it. I asked Polly if she loved me still. Polly 
said she did. I asked her if she’d bolt to Gretna Green. Polly 
said she’d like nothing better. I asked Polly if she’d any ready 
money ; for, you see, gentlemen, I happened to be a little hard 
up for ready cash at the moment, all through that confounded 
miscreant of an agent of mine over the water, and Polly said 
she had £54. I told Polly to slip it into her pocket, and slip 
out of the house at ten p. m. that very night. Gentlemen, there 
was a train for Scotland at half-past ten, and Polly Flight and 
your humble servant travelled by it.” 

Here the Captain made a pause and looked about him. 

“ Go on,” cried his friends. 

The Captain took another good pull at the champagne, and 
proceeded : — 

“We reached Scotland next morning, and I ordered break- 
fast at the hotel, and stepped out to look for the fellow that 
does the blacksmith’s work. I found him, and told him to step 
up in about half-an-hour to the hotel, as I’d a job for him. 

“ ‘ I suppose I musn’t ask names, sir V says the fellow. 

“ ‘ I indeed, you may,’ says I ; ‘ my name’s Captain Kelly, 
and the lady’s name is Miss Mary Flight.’ 

“ The fellow opened his eyes very wide and almost whistled. 

“ ‘ What the devil do you mean by that V says I. 

“ ‘ No offence. Captain,’ says he ; ‘ but I thought — that is, I 
>ust fancied 

“ ‘ What V says I, in a rage, at the fellow’s hesitating ; 


AFTEK THE OFEKA. 51 

‘ speak out like a man, or it’s every bone in your little carcase 
ril break.’ 

“ ‘ I beg pardon, Captain, I didn’t mean no harm ; but I just 
thought I’d heard that lady’s name before.’ 

“ ‘ How ? when ^ where ? speak !’ says I ; and I flourished 
my stick about the chap’s head. 

“ ‘ 1 4hink, Captain — I think she’s been here before.’ 

“ ‘ Been here before !’ cries I : ‘ what the mischief do you 
mean, you little villain V and I gave the stick another flourish 
that made the hair of his head flutter again. 

“ ‘ I think,’ says he, ‘ she came to marry Colonel O’Keefe.’ 

“ ‘ Came to marry Colonel O’Keefe !’ says I : ‘ and why 
didn’t she marry him then !’ 

“ ‘ I believe the Colonel found there was something wrong — 
some mistake about the money ^ says the chap, looking awfully 
frightened at what he was telling me. 

‘‘ ‘ Whew !’ says I, letting off a long breath, and beginning 
to feel rather queer. ‘ I tell you what it is, my little man ; 
don’t you come up till you’re sent for, and here’s a couple of 
sovereigns to shut your mouth with.’ 

“ ‘ All right. Captain,’ says the little villain, looking as know- 
ing as possible. 

“ Well, gentleman, I need not tell you that what I heard 
flabbergastered me a little. So I walked to the hotel, and there 
was Polly waiting breakfast, and looking as fresh and as pretty 
as may be. 

“ ‘ I’m so glad you’ve come,’ says Polly ; and she gave me 
a kiss. 

“ ‘ Madam,’ said I, ‘ I’ve a question to ask you. Have you 
ever been here before 1’ 

“ ‘ Here ? I f asked Polly, turning red and white by turns. 

‘‘ ‘ Guilty, by St. Patrick !’ thought I. 

“ ‘ Yes, madam, here^ and with Colonel O’Keefe, eh V 

“‘Polly gave a great shriek and threw herself on the sofa, 
and kicked her legs about dreadfully. I sat quite still, because 


52 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


I’d been a little used to those things, and I knew she’d come 
round when she found the hysterics didn’t take with me. 

“ ‘ Perhaps,* said I, ‘ you’ll be good enough to tell me why 
Colonel O’Keefe didn’t marry you.’ 

“ ‘ He was a villain,’ cried Polly. 

“‘But what was the reason?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ He was a mercenary wretch,’ cried Polly : ‘ somebody 
told him I’d got fifty thousand pounds, and when he found out, 
just as we were going to be married, that I had only five thou- 
sand, he refused to have me.’ 

“ ‘ Only Jive thousand ! — is it only five thousand you have V 
said I. 

“ ‘ That’s all,’ said Polly. 

“ ‘ Then O’Keefe was no fool,’ says I : and when I said it, 
gentleman, Polly screamed again, and kicked her legs worse 
than ever. 

“ And so, of course, you didn’t marry her,” cried Lorimer. 

“ ‘ Would you have me marry a woman that had run away 
with another man ?” asked Kelly indignantly : “ it wasn’t the 
difference of the fortune ** 

“ Of course noi^^ cried everybody. “ But tell us — did you 
travel back to London together ? What a pleasant journey it 
must have been !” 

“ Gentleman, you’ll hardly believe the trick that girl played 
me ; but it’s a fact. I mentioned that I had no ready money 
about me, and Polly had. Well, she went to her room — to 
mourn as I thought. So, afler an hour or so, I rang the bell 
and asked if she could see me. 

“ ‘ The lady’s gone, sir,’ said the servant. 

“ ‘ Gone where V I asked. 

“ ‘ To London, sir, by the twelve o’clock train, sir — an hour 
ago, sir.’ 

“ ‘ The divil !’ I exclaimed — ‘ then I must be off too.’ 

“ ‘ Certainly, sir,’ said the waiter — * there’s a train at two, 
sir — shall I bring the bill, sir V 


AFTEK THE OPEKA. 


53 


“The bill !' By Jove, I’d given the last money I had to the 
deputy parson. 1 hadn’t a sixpence, and Polly Flight knew it, 
I positively, gentlemen, remained at that hotel for three weeks 
because I hadn’t money to take me away — and the worst of it 
was that the waiters got hold of the true story, and everybody 
was laughing at me behind my back.” 

“ And Polly asked Lorimer. 

“ She was married to O’Shane before I got back to London : 
she ran away with him^ but she took care to go another road, 
and O’Shane was safely tied up before he found the secret of 
‘ five’ instead of ‘ fifty.’ Poor fellow !” 

After this little story, cards were sent for, and dice, and more 
champagne. And play ran high, and the Count Roussillon and 
the Captain Kelly were extremely lucky, and Mr. Lorimer 
Littlegood very much the reverse: and so it happened that 
the two former gentlemen became possessed of little auto- 
graphs of Lorimer’s acknowledging his indebtedness to the one 
in £800, and the other in £t60. And the champagne, though 
iced, was strong, and Mr. Lorimer Littlegood is unable to state 
how or at what hour he got to bed that night ; but he can state 
that his head ached frightfully next day ; and if his heart ached 
also, why — serve him right ! 


51 


LORIMER LIT T LEGO OD 


4 


CHAPTER VII. 

MR. AND MRS. CRUMP. 

Extremely respectable people were Mr. and Mrs. Crump. 
They lived in a neat little house in a clean little street in the 
neighborhood of the Lower Road, Islington. The house had 
six feet of gravel and mould in front it, decorated with a laurel 
tree, and one or two not very healthy-looking plants, and dig- 
nified by the name of a garden. On the door of the house 
was a large brass-plate, with Crump engraved on it in impos- 
ing letters. There were buff-colored Venetian blinds to every 
window in the house, and as the blinds were generally down 
during the day and had red pulleys to them, and the bricks of 
the house w^ere of the brightest description, and the mortar of 
the w'hitestand cleanest, Mr. and Mrs. Crump’s dwelling-place, 
shining in the noonday sun, looked so remarkably like an en- 
larged doll’s-house, that you would scarcely have been sur- 
prised if some giant had walked up to it and let down the 
whole of the front at once, and displayed the interior arrange- 
ments at a coup oelL 

Mr. and Mrs. Crump were flower-makers — not horticultu- 
rists, but manufacturers of those pretty little gauze, gum and 
wire imitations of the “ genuine article” that decorate the 
tresses and the bonnets of all the civilized of the fair sex, fivorn 
Her Most Gracious Majesty down to Mary the cook, and Je- 
mima the maid-of-all-work. Not that Mr. Crump made flow^- 
ers with his own hands, nor did Mrs. Crump often condescend 
to manipulate the muslin, as she grandiloquently expressed it. 
But Mr. Crump undertook to supply the large wxst-end mil- 


MK. AND MRS. CRUMP. 


65 


liiiery and flower shops with any quantity of flowers they might 
^ please to order of him ; and for this purpose Mrs. Crump had 
a number of young women and apprentices in her employ who 
were all day long hard at work with flimsy muslin of every 
color under heaven, and wire and gum and scissors — clipping, 
and folding, and twisting, and bending, and sticking — making 
roses, and violets, and white camelias, and lilies of the valley, 
and flowers of every name known to ordinarily informed bota- 
nists, and far beyond the knowledge of people so deficient in 
horticultural information as ourselves. The young women 
who worked for Mrs. Crump did not all live in Mrs. Crump’s 
doll’s-house, which would not have held a tithe of them. Most 
of them dwelt in out-of-the-way alleys and courts up ever so 
many flights of stairs, and in dismal little rooms looking out 
on chimney-pots, pigeons, and hungry cats. And most of them 
were quite as hungry as the hungriest of the cats, and longed 
fonthe wings of the pigeons (they would do as well as a dove’s) 
to flee away and be at rest — “ anywhere, anywhere out of the 
world,” as poor Tom Hood sang : but poverty and hunger had 
put chains on their legs, and, instead of being like the pigeons, 
they were fixed to their roof-dwellings as much as the chimney- 
pots which formed their prospect. 

Nevertheless, Mr. and Mrs. Crump were extremely respect- 
able people. Mr. Crump drove his own four-wheeled chaise, 
with a steady -looking brown horse in it, rather the worse for 
an accident to his near fore-leg, and called on the first of west- 
end establishments. He was never known to fail in his en- 
gagements, however large might be the order, or however 
promptly he undertook to execute it. Perhaps some of the 
young women living up among the chimney-pots might, on 
some such occasions, have to sit up all night, or two or three 
nights, to complete the work : but what of that ? Mr. Crump 
paid them : not one of them could allege that Mr. Crump 
had ever failed to do that, or to do it to the day. And if 
they found it hard to live and pay rent, and dress and look 


56 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


tidy on four and sixpence a week, was that Mr. Crump's 
fault ? He did not compel them to work for him — there was 
no slavery in free England — they accepted his offers voluntarily 
— they could give it up if they did not like it — it was a mere 
matter of agreement between master and laborer — it was all 
perfectly legitimate and straightforward. Mr. Crump only 
carried out the grand principle of commerce — especially of 
our enlightened modern commerce — the principle for which 
Messrs. Bobbin, Light, Phibson, and the rest of the Manchester 
school, will speechify with the eloquence of conviction — the 
principle of buying or manufacturing in the cheapest market, 
and selling in the dearest. 

And Mrs. Crump : had she ever beaten an apprentice, or 
starved her, or ill-used her 1 Shame on the question ! Mrs. 
Crump’s voluminous and portly figure, in that grand black 
satin dress, and that extensive cap of many ribbons, forbade 
the idea of so atrocious a supposition. She taught her appren- 
tices their business ; she looked strictly after their morals ; she 
took care that they should spend no time in idleness, which 
she justly regarded as the root of all evil : she considered that 
too much eating (which she expressly termed “ stuffing them- 
selves”) was bad for young women employed in sedentary oc- 
cupations, and she firmly and judiciously limited the supply of 
mutton and potatoes accordingly. She also considered that too 
much lying in bed was apt to weaken the constitution, and 
therefore she curtailed the hours of sleep to a degree that left 
it impossible for her young charges to suffer from a superfluity 
of rest. In all her acts, Mrs. Crump was guided by principle — 
a principle which will be better understood as we become more 
intimately acquainted with Mrs. Crump’s domestic arrange- 
ments. 

“ It’s a queer sort of an affair altogether, I think,” observed 
Mrs. Crump to her husband, as they sat together in the best 
parlor of their doll’s house, at a little round table, on which 
were the necessaries for tea 


MR. AND MRS. CRUMP. 


57 


This best parlor, which was only used on extraordinary oc- 
casions, was decorated in a style which displayed both the 
taste and the pursuits of its owners. It had little flower-pots 
on the mantel-piece, and in the window, filled with artificial 
flowers. Against the w^alls were pinned similar ornaments, 
while the general tone of the paper, and paint, and curtains, 
and furniture, was what may be appropriately called “ loud.” 

Tw'o or three apprentices were ^n the room with Mr. and 
Mrs. Crump, and they were dressed in the best clothes they 
possessed, and looked as unlike themselves on ordinary occa- 
sions as a ballet dancer on the stage, compared with the dowdy 
little woman in a dirty shawl and pattens, that may be seen 
coming out of the stage door on a rainy night, reminding you 
of any one rather than the. lovely Pettito who has been charm- 
ing you for the last half hour. 

Mr. and Mrs. Crump took no notice of the apprentices, who 
w’ere busy at work, but talked as if they were not present, 
very much as ladies and gentlemen in better life do in the pre- 
sence of their servants, as if those worthy people were both 
deaf and dumb. 

“ It’s a queer sort of an affair altogether, I think,” said Mrs. 
Crump. 

Mr. Crump took a sip at his cup of tea, but only a cautious 
sip, for the tea was cruelly hot, and brought the tears into the 
eyes of the good man. It required something very hot, or 
very strong, indeed, to produce this effect on Mr. Crump. 

“ It ain’t exactly in the ordinary way of things, certainly,” 
he replied. 

“ I never heard the like of it,” said Mrs. Crump ; “ a young 
girl that’s a pretty girl, as you say — but you men think every 
little frump of a girl pretty — and a young gentleman that’s 
tremendously rich and grand. And he wants to ’prentice her — 
what for, I should like to know? No good, 1 guess.” 

“ But, my dear,” remonstrated Mr. Crump, who, being a 
thin, light, active little man, with a large, robust, and com- 


58 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


inanding figure of a wife, had a due and natural respect for 
her; “but, my dear, 1 told you that the gentleman had had 
the misfortune to run over her, and wants, naturally, to make 
some compensation for the accident.” 

* “ Now, Mr. Crump, you don’t expect me to believe such a 
cock-and-a-bull story as that, do you 1” asked his wife. “ You 
Tuen fancy that we poor women are so easily imposed on, and 
so we are, goodness knows, when you practice your heartifices 
on us — but really, this is too ridiculous. Why couldn’t he 
give her a fi’ pound note, and have done with the hussy ] It’s 
my opinion he’s in love with her.” 

“ But, my dear, she’s only a child.’^ 

“More shame for her — leastways, for him^ I mean,” said 
Mrs. Crump, determinedly. 

“ There’s one thing, my dear,” said the practical Mr. Crump, 
in a whisper, so that the apprentices shouldn’t hear ; “ it don’t 
much matter to us, so long as we get the premium — which is 
just about double what we generally do get,” and he rubbed 
his hands gleefully. 

“ Humph !” muttered Mrs. Crump ; “ well, /’ll take care 
she plays none of her pranks here, at all events. She won’t 
got too much to eat, or too little to do, I fancy.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! very good,” chuckled Mr. Crump ; and the com- 
pliment of a laugh so pleased his wife that she evidently be- 
lieved she had made a capital joke. 

Just at this moment, a wild-looking servant girl pushed open 
the room-door in an excited and alarming way, and exclaimed — 

“ Please ’m, they’re come !” 

Having delivered this sentence, she vanished, and immediately 
afterwards Mr. Lorimer Littlegood appeared at the door of the 
best parlor, with little Rose leaning on his arm, and looking 
pale, nervous, and delicate. 

At the moment of their appearance, Mr. Crump, who prided 
himself on his good breeding — having graduated in the school 
of politeness as a linen-draper’s assistant in his younger days — 


MK. AND MKS. CRUMP. 


59 


rose hastily from his seat, and proceeded to make a low and 
spasmodic bow. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Crump did not 
make due allowance for the propinquity of the tea-table, the 
edge of which coming into contact with the regions bordering 
on Mr. Crump’s coat tails, the table was tilted up, and depo- 
sited a large supply of hot tea, milk, sugar, plates, cups and 
saucers, and bread and butter, into the lap of the astounded 
and scalded Mrs. Crump. 

Mrs. Crump very naturally screamed ; Mr. Crump very 
naturally turned hastily round, and, crying “My darling!” 
caught voluminous Mrs. Crump in his arms, who gave him a 
sly pinch somehow, that nearly made him roar with pain, 
Lorimer Littlegood burst out laughing ; the apprentices giggled, 
but hid their faces ; and poor little Kose was divided between 
fear and amusement. 

It took some time to restore tranquillity in the best parlor. 
(Mr. Crump affirms that it took months to restore peace to his 
domestic hearth, for the best black satin was spoilt, and two of 
the best tea-cups smashed.) 

“ This is the gentleman, my dear — Mr. Littlegood, my dear,” 
observed Mr. Crump nervously to his wife. 

Mrs. Crump made a courtesy ; but to attempt a smile was 
impossible, with the best black satin completely spoilt. 

“ I have brought my little charge, you see,” said Lorirner, 
cheerfully. “ She’s very weak yet, Mrs. Crump ; but your 
husband assures me you’re a capital nurse.” 

Mrs. Crump made another courtesy, and looked patroniz- 
ingly at Rose. 

“ Perhaps we had better arrange pecuniary matters alone, 
Mr. Crump,” suggested Lorimer, who did not wish Rose to 
feel the obligation she was under by witnessing the handing 
over of the money. 

“ Certainly, sir,” was the reply. “ Will you oblige me by 
leaving us, my dear T’ he said, turning to his wife. 

Mrs. Crump made a tremendous bow (it wasn’t a courtesy 


60 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


this time), and taking Rose by the hand, and looking at hei* 
husband, with a side glance at her spoilt dress at the same 
time, she sailed out ol* the room in the most stately style. The 
apprentices went out in a heap. 

1 have to hand you sixty pounds, Mr Crump,” said Lori- 
mer. 

“ Exactly so, sir.” 

“ Here it is, then” — and Lorimer handed over six crisp ten 
pound notes ; “and here is also the deed of apprenticeship for 
three years, which you see has been signed by Rose’s father, 
and here is the counterpart, I think they call it, which requires 
your signature.” 

The matter was soon settled. 

“ Now, Mr. Crump, you will understand, that in placing 
Rose Bennoch in your charge, I rely on her being treated with 
every kindness and attention. If 1 thought otherwise, I would 
sacrifice fifty times what I have paid you to rescue her from 
suffering.” 

“ She shall be treated quite as one of the family,” said Mr. 
Crump, earnestly. 

“Just so,” replied Lorimer; “and if there is anything the 
matter with her, or if anything is wanted for her, 1 rely on you 
to apply to me without a moment’s delay.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Crump. 

“Then we quite understand one another,” said Lorimer, 
“and I may as well go. Will you be good enough to let me 
take leave of my little friend alone f'* 

Mr. Crump expressed compliance, and left the room. Imme- 
diately afterwards, Rose entered. 

“ Well, Rose, dear, are you satisfied?” asked Lorimer. 

“ Yes,” said Rose, timidly. 

“Poor child, how pale she looks! Mind you write to me 
often. Rose ; and if you are not treated kindly, tell me at 
once, and I will fetch you away.” 

Rose hung her head, but did not answer. 


ME. AND MKS. CKUMP. 


61 


“ Do you think you shall like Mrs. Crump?’’ asked Lorimer. 

Rose again said “ Yes but very faintly indeed this time, 
and she burst into tears as soon as she had spoken the word. 

“ She’s very weak yet,” said Lorimer, thinking aloud ; “ but 
the change of air here will do her good. Good bye, my 
child — here is a little present as a remembrance — God bless 
you !” and, pressing a little purse into her hand (we may 1 e 
sure it was well filled), he kissed her forehead, left the room 
hastily, run down stairs, jumped into his brougham, and, cry- 
ing “ Home !” was off at a full trot to London. 

Rose had run to the window — Rose had watched him — had 
heard the word ‘‘ Home” — had seen him wave his hand to her 
as he drove off ; and then had sunk into a chair, and began to 
sob as if her death-knell had sounded. 

“ Hey-day ! what’s the matter here, I wonder ?” cried Mrs. 
Crump, no longer in the grand black satin, but in a faded cotton 
gown, sailing into the room. “ Crying, indeed ! and what for, 
I should like to know ? A pretty way to begin — we don’t 
allow snivelling here, I can tell you — especially not for hand- 
some young men.” 

When Rose heard the last words she raised her eyes sud- 
denly, with a look of bewilderment. She clearly could not 
understand what Mrs. Crump meant. The inuendo would 
have been comprehensible enough at sixteen ; but at thirteen, 
and to a child so utterly uneducated in the world’s ways, it 
was puzzling in the extreme. 

“ Oh yes ! very innocent, indeed,” cried Mrs. Crump, with 
a sneer and a chuckle rolled into one. “We shall soon under- 
stand one another, though, I’ve no doubt.” 

Alas ! it seemed very probable that they would ; but 
whether the “ understanding” was likely to contribute to Rose’s 
happiness or improvement was another matter. Certain it is 
that the poor child went to bed that night with a bursting heart, 
and while trying in her unsophisticated way to reason herself 


62 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


into the conviction that she ought to be happy — that she was 
removed from the scenes of violence, debauch, poverty, and 
want — that she was to learn a good and honest trade— that she 
had a kind protector, she sobbed herself into a fitful and dream- 
haunted slumber. 


A DISCOVEKY. 


63 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ME. WEAZEL MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

We hope the reader has not forgotten our sharp little friend, 
Mr. Weazel, who visited the Pecks on the night when Job had 
his first interview with his future master. 

Mr. Weazel’s home was an odd sort of place; and making 
all due allowances for the fact of Mr. W eazel being a bachelor, 
we cannot pronounce his dwelling-place even decently comfort- 
able. He ha(Fa house all to himself, and no one to wait on 
him but a very small girl — so small, that a tall man might 
have been excused for walking over her without noticing her. 
She was always very hungry, too, but whether this arose from 
a peculiarly voracious appetite, or from the short commons 
supplied to her by Mr. Weazel, is in some degree a mystery. 
Weazel declared that she was the most frightful glutton ever 
known, and would eat her own grandmother if she got a 
chance ; but Peg denied that she ever got a chance of any food 
at all that her master could possibly deprive her of. Two 
facts, however, are well established — that Peg once ate a piece 
of Weazel’s soap (real yellow), ’and that a half-quartern loaf 
was expected by Weazel to satisfy himself and Peg for three 
days’ meals. 

Peg Todd (her name was almost as short as herself) was 
what the English law politely terms nullius^^^ that is, 

nobody’s child. It may reasonably be presumed that she once 
had a father and a mother ; but nobody knew who they were. 
As far as any living evidence extended, she was born on a 
door-step, in a thunder-storm, in a narrow alley, somewhere in 


04 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Whitechapel. In ancient days of poetical supperstition, it 
would have been imagined that she was a daughter of the air, 
or a child of the fairies, or something of that kind ; but in 
these dull, prosy days, the man who found her pronounced her 
a “ poor little foundling,” and intimated his belief, that her 
mother was no better than she ought to be, and that her father 
was about as good as her mother. 

He was a kind-hearted old fellow that found her, and, al- 
though very poor, he neither tried to get the parish to take 
charge of her, nor to relieve himself of her in any other way. 
On the contrary, he formed the extraordinary, and rather rash 
resolve, of bringing her up himself. As far as kindness went, 
nothing was wanting on the old man’s part ; but a man of 
seventy is scarcely a proper nurse and tutor to an infant — so 
that Peg Todd grew up an odd child. The old man, whose 
name was Todd, and who christened his little clferge Margaret, 
had a strong desire to leave her a fortune ; but, as his sole 
means consisted of a small pension from his former employers 
in the city, whom he had served as light porter, he did not 
seem to have much chance of accomplishing his wish. He 
thought otherwise ; and as the railway mania was at its height, 
he plunged into the stream of speculation like his betters, and, 
like many of them also, he was ruined. He borrowed money, 
in a small way, to be repaid out of his pension — the lender was 
our benevolent friend Weazel. At last he could not pay, and 
Weazel would give no more time : so Weazel took out execu- 
tion against the old man’s goods, entered his house, and seized 
his furniture. The old man was struck with apoplexy, brought 
on by excitement, and died. Weazel carried away the poor 
furniture, and with it little Peg Todd, appropriating both to 
his own use — the former to decorate his house, and the latter 
to be his white slave. 

Peg did not cry much when the old man died ; but Peg 
never laughed again. If there was any good in her it would 
have puzzled you to find it out ; and yet there was not much 


A DISCO VERY. 


65 


evil either, for she never lied or stole (except food when she 
was starving), and lying and stealing were the only vices she 
as yet knew anything about. That she hated Weazel with a 
ten- full-grown-female power was clear enough, and equally 
natural. 

Mr. Weazel was at home smoking his pipe. It was almost 
the only luxury that Mr. Weazel ever allowed himself, except a 
half pint of porter to accompany the tobacco. Peg was in the 
back kitchen, her usual abiding-place, and Weazel in the front 
one ; for being of an extremely economical turn of mind, he 
never used his parlor furniture when alone. It may be wonder 
ed why he did not let a part of his house, and thus put more 
money in his pocket ; but men of penurious, scheming, and 
secret habits, generally like a house lo themselves. They don’t 
wish to be overlooked in any way. It was for a similar rea- 
son, no doubt, that Weazel kept Peg Todd in his service, be- 
cause he regarded her as a stupid, ignorant, silent, unobservant 
child, who could not be a spy on him. 

Mr. Weazel was smoking his pipe, and cogitating. Can any- 
thing be more conducive to calm reflection than the Virginian 
weed? Grievously to be pitied are they who know not, or 
cannot enjoy, the luxuries of a cigar. How soothing is its in- 
fluence ! how calmly beats the pulse as we loll in our easy 
chair, and, inhaling the fragrant vapour, send it forth again in 
light, fleecy clouds, and watch them floating around, and curl- 
ing upwards, in a thousand fantastic forms ! How the petty 
annoyances of the day seem to dissolve, the excitement of busi- 
ness to subside, the anger or the anxiety to die away, and 
calm and placid visions of ease and contentment to usurp tin ;r 
place! IIow differently we look at life, how differently \w 
think of men at such a moment, than in the hurry and turmoil 
of the day ! Oh, beneficent weed, that bringest such relief to 
the aehing heart and the wearied brain, how much do we owe 
thee, and how little do they who revile thee know of thy tran- 
scendent virtues ! 

5 


66 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


It must be confessed, however, that these effects were not 
produced upon Mr. Weazel by his pipe; but then Weazel’s 
case is an exceptional one. If men who [tlot and scheme, and 
live by crooked means, and pass through life along its dirtiest 
roads, could but be brought to confess the truth, when they are 
nearing the goal to which we all hasten, by high-road or bye- 
road — the grave — they would tell us, that content and calm en- 
joyment, the only true pleasures, were always unknown to 
them. It is the very essence of plotting and scheming, that 
unquiet spirits should be engaged in them. And what happi- 
ness can the unquiet spirit know ? Therefore, good reader, 
when you see the prosperous rogue and the rich schemer, and 
feel disposed to growl at having discovered the flxllacy of the 
old schoolboy maxim, that “ cheating never thrives,” take this 
consolation to your heart, that crooked ways may lead to wealth 
and pleasure, but not to content, which is alone happiness, as 
you will acknowledge when you have knocked about the world, 
“ seeing life,” and have reached the shady side of thirty. 

Weazel smoked like a man whose mind is not at ease : he 
took short, quick puffs for a minute or two together, and then 
ceased smoking till his pipe was almost out : then he began 
again in the same style, running his little finger viciously into 
the pipe-bowl, to its manifest danger of being burnt and blister- 
ed. Indeed, with all our love of smoking, this is a feat we 
never could accomplish unscorched, and so now never attempt 
it at all. 

‘‘ It’s very provoking,” thought Weazel, “ very : here have 
1 been tracing out this case for the last two years, and getting 
link by link of the evidence, and hard enough I’ve worked at 
it. Sometimes I’ve been almost tempted to throw it up alto- 
gether, when it’s seemed so complicated and difficult, that I’ve 
been almost disheartened; but then it’s such a fine stake to 
play for! Here have I been wriggling through the world for 
five and fifty years, and what have I made, after all ? Why. 
if I could only get this one ease e()m[>h‘te, it would bring me 


A DISCOVERY. 


C7 


ten times what I’ve earned during the rest of my life. And, 
by degrees, I’ve cleared away almost every obstacle. It has 
cost me a great deal of time, and some money, too, and I’m 
not going to give it up now. No, no. But Pm regularly 
brought to a stand-still. Where can that fool be ? Perhaps the 
beast is dead — he has n’t been hanged, or I should have seen it 
in the paper. He may be dead, confound him : but that 
wouldn’t matter so much, if I could find his heir, except that I 
might find the son more difficult to deal with than the father : 
I could do anything with him. It’s of no use to advertise him 
in the newspapers, for a fellow like that never looks at one. 
And it might do harm, too ; for that attorney chap is as sharp 
as old Nick, and as he has got some of the plunder, he’d be on 
the look out at once. It wouldn’t do for him to know I couldn’t 
produce the right man. Perhaps he knows where he is him- 
self. Suppose I go to him, then, and pretend that I know, too : 
it may throw him off his guard, especially if 1 let him see that 
1 know almost everything about the case. Hem ! let me see.” 

And, so saying, Weazel fell into a brown study, and let out 
his pipe. 

A loud single knock sounded on the street-door, and made 
Weazel start in his chair. 

“ Peg — Peg — you young wretch, don’t you hear the knock ?” 
cried he. 

No answer came ; so Weazel went into the back kitchen, 
where Peg Todd was too soundly sleeping to be disturbed by 
knocks, single or double. Weazel seized her by the shoulders, 
and tumbled her off the chair on which she was sitting coiled 
up. The child uttered a slight cry, but repressed it in a mo- 
ment, as she saw her master, and stood rubbing her eyes with 
her dirty hands. 

“ There’s a knock at the door — run and open it, you young 
devil’s brat, you,” he cried. 

Peg went, but not hurriedly . she was never frightened either 
at Weazel’s anger or his language. She opened the door, and 


68 LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 

conducted down stairs our old friend Peck, Job’s “ big brother.” 

“ Ah, my dear friend, I’m quite delighted to see you,” said 
Weazel. “Confound him! what the deuce does he want?” 
he muttered to himself. 

“ Thought I’d give you a look up, as I was your way,” an- 
swered Peck ; “‘and we haven’t seen you lately.” 

“You are very kind,” said Weazel — “and it is a long time 
since weVe met. Will you take a pipe ?” 

“ Thank’ee,” replied the other, “ I’ve got one in my pocket.” 
And, so saying, he produced a little black pipe, and filled it, 
and began to smoke. 

“How’s Mrs. P. and the little ones?” said Weazel. 

“ Pretty middling, thank’ee,” said Peck. 

“ x\nd how’s Job ?” asked Weazel ; for Weazel was a man 
who considered that every one might be made serviceable to 
him, at some time or other, and so kept on good terms with 
as many people as he could. 

“Oh, Job’s all right.” 

“ Does he like his place and his new master ?” 

“Yes; he likes ’em well enough; he gets good pay and 
good grub, and not too much work.” 

“That’s well,” said Weazel. “I’ve no doubt young Mr. 
Littlegood is a good hearted man.” 

“ You may say that,” replied Peck, “ for he’s proved it to 
my thinking.” 

“ How so ?” 

“ Why you see as he w^as driving his cabrioly lately, he had 
the misfortune to knock down a little girl, and one of her leg- 
bones was bruk, and Mr. Littlegood himself, he carried her 
into a shop, and he took her to the hospital on his owm knees, 
and saw' her well-cared for, and he’s paid for everything; and, 
what’s more, he’s tkken care of the girl, altogether. I’m told.” 

“ Dear me !’’ said Weazel, “ quite romantic, ain’t it ?” 

“ I don’t know nothing about that, and never see anything 
of the sort, except Rosherville, which they calls so,” said Peck ; 


A DISCOVERY. 69 

but it’s uncommon kind /think, and shows that Mr. Littlegood’s 
a brick, and no mistake.” 

And, after this, for him, unusually long speech, Peck pulled 
away at his pipe, as if his life depended on puffing so many 
clouds in so many seconds. 

“You’re quite right,” answered Weazel. “It was very 
noble, and he must feel a delightful satisfaction in his own con- 
science — there’s nothing like ihat^ Peck, nothing.” 

Weazel tried to look as if he were intimately acquainted 
with the sensation he referred to ; but though poor Peck was 
not the brightest oi most clear-sighted of mortals, he was not 
altogether deluded into the belief that Mr. W eazel tried to in- 
spire. 

“ Was she very poorly off?” asked Weazel — not from curi- 
osity, but from a wish to say something. 

“ Very,^’ was the reply. “I’m told she was the daughter of 
a drunken blacks wmith, who won’t take the trouble to earn 
his own living — a regular brute they say he is.” 

“A drunken blacksmith!” said Weazel, catching at the 
words. “ Do you happen to know the name 

“ Can’t say I do,” replied Peck, 

“ Where's the girl now?” asked Weazel, getting apparently 
interested in the case. 

“ Can’t tell you that, neither,” said Dick ; “ all I know is, 
that Job thinks she has been apprenticed somewhere ; but he 
don’t know where, for his master took her somewhere or other 
in a hired brougham, and Job wasn’t with him ; and, as it wasn’t 
his business, I suppose he didn’t trouble his head much about 
the matter.” 

Here Peck smoked away again vigorously, and Weazel sat 
scratching his head. It was evident that the little story he had 
heard had made some impression on his mind, and he seemed 
to fancy it might have a connexion with the scheme he was 
pursuing; but, after all, he was not a man to clutch at straws, 
and he was also averse to letting people know that anything 


70 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


out of the ordinary way was passing in his mind. So he tried 
to talk in his usual style on different subjects with Peck, but 
did not succeed very well, which was of no great consequence 
with so silent a man as his guest. 

At length, as the latter rose to depart, Weazel determined 
to make one more effort to elicit what he wished to discover. 

“ Do you, know. Peck,” he said, “ that oddly enough, I can’t 
help fancying I know something about the family of the poor 
girl you mentioned % You’re sure you don’t know her name V* 

“ No,” replied Peck ; “ though I heard it too.” 

“ What was it like asked the other. 

“ Let me see — Ben — Ben — Bennett ; no, it wasn’t Bennett, 
neither.” 

“ Was it Bennoch 1” asked Weazel. 

“ ThaPs it — that’s it,” replied Peck. 

“ Ah, thank ye,” said W eazel, shaking hands with Peck, and 
looking as calm as he could. Peck bade him good night, and 
went up stairs with Peg (into whose hand he slipped a sixpence, 
strongly suspecting she wanted food) and was let out. 

As soon as the street door banged, Weazel sprung up, and 
actually began to cut capers like a mad dancing master, to the 
intense surprise of Peg Todd, who stood at the kitchen door, 
holding a rushlight in her hand. 

“May I go to-bed asked Peg, when Weazel, conscious 
of her presence, ceased his saltatory exercise. 

“ You may go to ; yes, be off,” he cried ; and the girl 

walked away quietly. 

“ What a piece of luck !” exclaimed Weazel : “ found him at 
last ! at least I soon shall. Bennoch — drunken blacksmith — . 
won’t get his living ; of course it’s he — of course it is. My. 
fortune’s made.” 


CAPTAIN KELLY 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 

LORIMER CALLS IN THE AID OF CAPTAIN KELLY. 

A MAN with several hundreds a year, certain income, has not 
much trouble in raising a little extra money. When Lorimer 
was reminded of the two little I O U’s he had given to the 
Count and Captain Kelly, he made the unpleasant discovery 
that the balance at his banker’s was so small as to be almost 
a fractional one. But a request that he might overdraw his 
account till he could get fresh remittances from his solicitor 
and agent, was immediately complied with by the accommodat- 
ing banker to whom he made it. This facility of obtaining 
ready cash was rather unfortunate for him, as it prevented him 
from troubling his head about money matters at all. A diffi- 
culty of “raising the wind” is an excellent check on extrava- 
gance, because it forces a man to look more or less keenly at 
the state of his affairs. So long as signing your name to a 
cheque, or across a piece of stamped paper, produces an imme- 
diate supply of coin, so long is reflection as to ways and means 
postponed ; but the first notice of “ no effects,” or the first po- 
lite refusal to “do” the bit of stamped paper, suggests the idea 
that a screw is loose somewhere, and that however satisfactory 
may be the state of the money market in the city (and we 
have always observed that it is satisfactory there at the time our 
own pockets are lightest), it is evident that our little money 
market is becoming tight. Thereupon, w’e ask ourselves what 
we really want and cannot do without, postponing to an in- 
definite period a thousand little things that we fancied we need- 
ed but that we can remarkably well dispense with if we try ; we 


72 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


also inquire what we did with that last hundred pounds we re- 
ceived ; and, although we cannot account for the disbursement 
of much more than half of it, still, even in that half, we recol- 
lect a great many little items that can by no means be pro- 
nounced necessaries of life. Perhaps we make a vow to be 
more economical, and we keep it — for a fortnight. No matter ; 
the difficulty and the reflection have done us good by remind- 
ing us that our means are flir from inexhaustible, and that it 
may be still less easy to “ raise the wind ” next time than it 
has been this. LorimePs warning did not come yet: he paid 
his I O U’s, wrote to Bosher for a fresh supply of money, and 
troubled his head no more about the matter. 

It was the opinion of a great many people, and especially of 
ladies who had grown-up daughters, that Lorimer Littlegood 
ought to marry. A man of his fortune might select almost 
any young lady he pleased from a certain rank of life ; and it 
would settle him, and be so far more respectable than a bache- 
lor’s life : and they were sure that he was naturally of a most 
domestic nature, and would make the best and most contented 
of husbands. How excellently our friends can always carve 
out our future for us ! and yet how perversely it happens that 
our own notions as to what we ought to do are nearly always 
at variance with those of our kind friends. To be sure, a man 
may not be a good judge of his own case, and it is possible that 
our kind friends may see the way clearly enough for us, while 
to our own visions, the path is obscure ; but, after all, we mostly 
like to steer our own course, and take the chance of getting on 
the rocks rather than entrust the rudder of our happiness to the 
hands of others. Was ever man possessed of a few hundreds 
or thousands, but that dozens of kind friends could point out 
exactly what he ought to do with it ? Was ever widower 
known who had not plenty of relations and friends that were 
quite determined on getting him married again, and perfectly 
ready to suggest exactly the sort of wife he should take — if not, 
indeed, to name the identical lady to be thus honored? Was 


CAPTAIN KELLY. 


73 


ever bachelor existent — with a well-lined pocket — who was not 
surrounded by harpy friends, in female form, ready to snap 
him up for themselves, their daughters, or their sisters ? 

Lorimer Littlegood, Esq., informed everybody that he was 
not a marrying man, that he intended to see life — and see it in 
a way that precluded all idea of matrimony. Undoubtedly 
such was his intention ; but who that had a daughter to marry 
cared about such protestations? They knew perfectly well that 
from Benedick downwards, they who have first scoffed at ma- 
trimony have often plunged most suddenly and unexpectedly 
into it ; and if Mr. Littlegood did mean to be single, still it 
was quite possible that Jemima’s teeth, or Matilda’s hair, or 
Jane’s voice, or Maria’s figure, or Lucy’s complexion, might 
turn him aside from his purpose, and lead him captive — ano- 
ther victim to feminine artifices or attractions. Therefore was 
Lorimer’s table daily covered with little notes of every hue 
and shape — some pink, pressing, private, and friendly — some 
white, formal, enveloped, and “ requesting the honor” — some 
blue, three-cornered, hasty, and confidential — but all having 
the same object in view. 

Lorimer found these things somewhat of a bore, and had 
serious thoughts of engaging a secretary to open and reply to 
them, as the doing so would occupy two-thirds of any ordinary 
mortal’s time. But, by degrees, estimating them at their 
proper value, he felt quite sure that all the friendship, confi- 
dence, affection, and anxiety contained in them were not, 
together, worth the salary of the most moderate of secretaries ; 
so he got into a habit of tossing them aside unanswered, and 
picking out an invitation, here and there, to accept. 

There was one house, however, at which he was a constant 
visitor — that of the Stanleys — wherein dwelt the young lady 
concerning whom he wrote to his sister. For a man who had 
determined not to marry, Lorimer’s continual calls at this 
house were, to say the least, rather noticeable. At least two 
evenings in every week he passed there, and this was no small 


74 


L01ilMP:Pv LITTLEGOOD. 


proportion of time for a yonng gentleman of his multifarious 
engagements and pursuits. But, then, the Stanleys were very 
unalFected people, and very clever, and amusing, and easy-man- 
nered — in fact, just what people should be who venture to give, 
and expect you to accept, general invitations, which we regard 
as a gross piece of impertinence on the part of the slow, stupid, 
jog-trot portion of the community, though charming enough 
when coming from people like the Stanleys. 

Some persons insinuated that Mrs. Stanley had a taste for 
match-making. Very likely she had ; but, with three daugh- 
ters, how could she be otherwise 1 Where is the mama, simi- 
larly circumstanced, who has not a similar taste? “Young 
ravens must have food,” says ancient Pistol. “Young ladies 
must have husbands,” say modern mamas ; and the necessity 
is as apparent in the one case as the other. A mother, with a 
taste for match-making, is, after all, only a mother with strong 
maternal instincts, and, therefore, an object of respect rather 
than of censure. 

As Lorimer was turning over, and tossing aside, the various 
and many-shaped notes on his breakfast table one morning, he 
came upon one in the well-known hand-writing of Mrs. Stan- 
ley ; but it was not pink or blue, three-cornered, twisted, or 
cocked-hat shape, as usual. On the contrary, it was rather 
business-like in appearance, being enclosed in a full letter-size 
envelope, and sealed with a large impr^ession. He twisted it 
about, as people always do, wondering what the contents could 
be, instead of opening it to ascertain. At length he broke the 
seal, and read as follows : — 

“ My dear Mr. Littlegood, 

“ It is now some time that we have enjoyed the pleasure of 
your society, and, I trust I may add, your friendship. We have 
been indebted to your conversation and your musical talents 
for many delightful evenings, and I flattered myself that more 
than a mere acquaintanceship was established between us. It 


CAPTAIN KELLY. 


75 


is true that I had oceasionallj the fear, that censorious people 
might attribute my encouragement of your visits here to other 
than disinterested and mere friendly motives; but knowing that 
such insinuations will always be made against mothers who 
have daughters of a certain age, and feeling perfectly inyiocent^ 
in my own heart, I determined to disregard the ill-natured 
remarks that might be made. I knew that you entertained no 
feelings beyond those of friendship for my daughters, and that 
you were not likely to experience any others, with your pecu- 
liar views of life, and surrounded, as you are, by a thousand 
things and people more attractive than my dear girls. But, 
my dear sir, 1 was not prepared to hear that, while visiting our 
house, and partaking of such poor hospitality as we could offer, 
you were making a sport and a bye-word of my daughter’s 
name among your own gay associates. Even now 1 can scarcely 
credit that you have done so : at the same time, I think it jus- 
tice to show you the enclosed piece of paper. It is part of a 
letter written by a gentleman, well known to you, to another 
gentleman, who thought it only right to let me see it. I have 
torn away both the signature and the address ; but I sincerely 
hope I may receive your assurance that the expressions attri- 
buted to you were not really such as you used. Requesting 
your early and candid reply to this, 

“ 1 remain, 

“ Yours, sincerely, 

“ Elizabeth Stanley.” 

The enclosure was a strip of paper (part of a letter, as Mrs. 
Stanley had stated), and contained these words : — 

“ Littlegood did not join us. He tells us he was amusing 
himself with cunning little Nelly Stanley, and her ‘clever’ 
mamma — good sport, no doubt.” 

“ The devil take the fellow ! ” exclaimed Lorimer, in a rage. 
“ I swear I never said such a thing in my life : if there’s any 
girl I have respect for, more than another it’s Miss Stanley. 


76 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


Let me see — whose is the handwriting? I know it — ^and yet— 
yes — it’s that brute Lavers's. I never have liked that fellow ; 
and now I see what a dangerous character he is. Besides, this 
is not the first time he has spoken disrespectfully of the same 
lady. I’ll settle accounts with him now — hang the fellow.” 

My dear boy, are you walking for a wager?” asked Cap- 
tain Kelly, entering the room, up and down which Lorirner was 
pacing and chafing in true theatrical style. 

Ah, Kelly ! — the very man — I’m very glad you’ve come.” 

What is it, me dear fellow ?” cried the captain, scenting a 
row afar off, and rejoicing accordingly, like all his countrymen, 
at such a luxury. 

“ There ! ” said Lorirner, throwing down the piece of letter 
supposed to be written by Lavers. “ Whose writing is that ?” 

“ 1 take it, it’s our skinny friend Lavers’s,” was the reply. 

“ Exactly so,” said Lorirner : “ and what do you think of it ?” 

Now the captain, not being a delicately sensitive man regard- 
ing a young lady’s name, would never have discovered anything 
wrong in the letter of his own accord ; but perceiving that Lorit 
mer was very indignant, he of course thought it right to affect 
a similar sentiment. 

“ Bedad, it’s not the thing, then,” said he. 

“ He shall suffer for it,” cried Lorirner. 

“ Shootin’s too good for him,” chimed in the captain. 

“ You must call on him for me, captain,” said Lorirner. 

‘‘Won’t I then?” cried CajJltain Kelly, approaching the 
highest state of felicity, now that the prospect of a row was 
becoming still clearer. 

“ You must ask him if he did write it, you know,” remarked 
Lorirner. 

“Sure I’ll ask him, and he’ll answer too. I’ll warrant.” 

“ If he admits it, be good enough to remonstrate with him 
on the impropriety of using my name in such a manner, and 
still more the young lady’s.” 

“ I’ll remonstrate,” said the captain, but not liking such a 
peaceful word by any means. 


CAPTAIN KELLY. 


77 


“ You see,” observed Lorimer, “ that he may say that the 
letter was merely a private one from one friend to another, 
and that he has no right to be called on to explain anything 
in such a communication. But 1 shall not stand such mu ex- 
cuse — ” 

“ Of course you won’t,” cried Kelly ; “ of course not, my boy. 
Your honor’s safe with me, and I’ll see you through the affair 
like a gentleman, dead or alive.” 

“ You’re very obliging,” said Lorimer, smiling; “ but un- 
derstand, my dear Kelly, that if Mr. Lavers can be induced to 
apologize, and also to assure Mrs. Stanley that the expressions 
he attributes to me were not really used by me, I think this 
will be by far the best course for all parties. I don’t think, 
between ourselves, that Master Lavers would much like fight- 
ing. I confess that I am not fond of duels myself, and by no 
means approve them ; besides which, I am perfectly convinced 
that no lady about whom a duel is fought, for any earthly 
cause, comes out quite unscathed in reputation. Therefore, 
pray understand that 1 wish to convey a remonstrance, and to 
appeal to Mr. Lavers’s feelings as a gentleman ; and I trust 
they will prompt him to pursue the right course. If they do 
not, then of course there is but one alternative open to us — ” 

“ Pistols and coffee,” said the captain, his mouth watering 
with delight at the very thought of those luxuries, which are 
getting so rare now-a-days. 

“1 suppose so,” said Lorimer, smiling again : “ but you un- 
derstand my wishes, I think.” 

“ Never fear : 1 understand all about it. I’ll just take and 
break every bone — I mean I’ll remonstrate with Mr. Lavers 
like a gentleman, my boy. Good bye.” 

And Captain Kelly rushed away in a great hurry, leaving 
Lorimer to write to Mrs. Stanley, and to ask himself after- 
wards, whether the redoutable captain was really ‘‘ the very 
man he wanted.” He had slight misgivings on the point 


now. 


78 


LORIMEK LIT.TLEGOOD. 



CHAPTER X. 

ROSE RECEIVES A MORNING CALL. 

Rose Bennoch was becoming initiated into the peculiarities 
of Mr. and Mrs. Crump’s establishment. It was not the most 
agreeable household in the kingdom, perhaps, but Rose had 
not been accustomed to one better regulated. 

At six o’clock every morning, Mrs. Crump, in a costume 
that no gentleman but her husband ought to know anything 
about, and which we will not, therefore, hint at — further than 
to mention that it comprised a cap with enormous limp, wavy 
frills round it — used to enter the room where Rose and three 
other apprentices were sleeping, and, making sharp and sav- 
age thrusts at the bedclothes with her knuckles, would awaken 
the slumberers with cries of — “ Get up with you, you lazy 
sluts; 1 suppose you want to go on snoring away all day.” 
And Mrs. Crump would never leave the room till all four 
apprentices were quite out of bed, when she would infoi m 
them, that “ if they did not make precious good haste, they 
should have no breakfast at all.” 

At half past six the poor girls were hard at work at the 
muslin and the wire, and the other materials for flower mak- 
ing. They had plenty to say to one another, though they 
were obliged to talk in sly whispers; for if Mrs. Crump heard 
either of their voices, she would rush out of the room and de- 
clare that they were a set of “ idle, chattering, good-for-noth- 
ing minxes, and. she’d stop their dinners, that she would.” 
The apprentices knew that these were no idle threats; for 
nothing gave Mrs. Crump greater satisfaction than to put one 


EOSE KECEIVES A MOKNING CALL. 79 

of the girls on short commons; it was a capital punishment, 
and a profitable one to her own pocket. Short commons ! 
To tell the truth, they never had anything else ; tor a slice 
of bread with a fiction of butter, and palely-colored milk and 
water, denominated tea, for breakfast, a slice of meat and a 
potato at dinner, and another slice of bread in the evening, 
which constituted each girl’s daily allowance, could scarcely 
be called a very full supply of food for hard-working, growing 
girls. 

At eight o’clock, the breakfast was served — that is to say, a 
mug of the fictitious tea and a slice of the bread and butter was 
placed before each apprentice, with an injunction to be quick 
over it. In a quarter of an hour, they were at work again 
till one o’clock, when they w^ere called into another room, and 
allowed tw^enty minutes to dispose of their dinner. At work 
again till six, when the breakfast scene of the morning was 
repeated ; and then at work again till nine or ten at night. 
By this economy of time, and these benevolent and judicious 
arrangements, Mrs. Crump got about fourteen hours’ w’ork 
every day out of her apprentices, and took great credit for 
her own kindness and humanity in not making it eighteen 
hours instead. The Ten Hours’ Act, indeed ! thought Mrs. 
Crump — it’s nothing but an encouragement to idleness : thank 
goodness, they couldn’t interfere with private establishments 
like her’s. 

And yet there were those who eiivied Mrs. Crump’s ap- 
prentices, and wished they could change places with them. 
These were the girls who worked at their own homes for Mr. 
and Mrs. Crump. The apprentices might grumble at the pau- 
city of the butter on their slices of bread, and the smallness 
of their allowance of meat, but the poor work-girls in their 
garrets, often found it hard to get a slice of bread at all, and 
scarcely ever, in their wdldest aspirations, thought of meat. 

Yet they had their liberty, and that was something — nay, 
it w^as a great deal ; for although it sounds very well to say 


80 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


that those who must work night and day, or starve, are slaves 
in the worst sense, — that liberty is but a name when it does 
not give you sufficient food and rest — that hunger is a worse 
tyrant than any human one — that a sufficiency of meat and 
drink, a good bed to lie on, even though they are accompanied 
with personal restraint, compensate fully for perfect freedom 
with griping poverty — though all this sounds well and reads 
well, and often carries conviction to good heads and gentle 
hearts, yet, after all, there is not one of us, freeborn and ever 
so little enlightened, that would not gladly exchange all the 
material advantages of servitude for liberty. Is liberty, then, 
a mere phantom, when she is attended with none of the wealth, 
none of the comforts of life? No: rather she is a goddess, 
whose divinity we all worship, not because she brings us solid 
worldly advantages, but because she is divine, and some kin- 
dred element of our own souls draws us irresistibly towards 
her. 

And thus, while the poor work-girls, in their garrets up 
among the chimney pots, envied the apprentices in Mrs. 
Crump’s establishment, the latter in turn longed for the time 
when they should be free from harsh restraint and ill-usage, 
and at liberty to earn their meagre meals in their own little 
chambers. 

Jt is strange, but true, that of all the apprentices, poor little 
Rose suffered most under the domestic tyranny of Mrs. 
Crump. She had known but little kindness, or felt but little 
happiness, in her own wretched home ; but yet, crouching 
down in her little dark corner with her one book, and dream- 
ing of scenes, and people, and ways of life she might never 
become personally acquainted with, she had tasted a sort of 
freedom from which she was here debarred. But this was not 
all : for between her life in the misei’able court where her 
drunken father and scolding mother dragged out their squab- 
bing existence, diad come an interval of calm and delight, 
when lying in the hospital and tiaidcd with every care, and 


ROSE RECEIVES A MORNING CALL. 81 

daily visited by at least one kind, sympathizing friend, a gleam 
of sunshine had broken in upon the poor child’s vision — sun- 
shine so bright that she scarcely, at first, believed in its beauty 
— happiness so keen as to be almost painful in its very in- 
tensity. And now the contrast ! Instead of the gentle care 
and the soothing voices around her; instead of the smiling 
look of inquiry of her daily visitor, the warm pressure of her 
little hand, and the assurance that all would henceforth be 
well with her, and she should never want aught that friends 
could provide, — there was callous indifference to her sufferings ; 
harsh, scolding voices reproving the errors of her ignorance, 
the ready blow to chastise her slightest fault, real or imaginary, 
and the denial of all that she w^as in justice entitled to. 

How she thought of the kind, generous, noble, and hand- 
some stranger that had befriended her ! How in her childish 
heart she worshipped his name, and prayed for him, and 
sobbed herself to sleep, thinking of every word of gentleness 
and comfort he had spoken to her, and comparing all with the 
sordid ci’uelty she now experienced. Poor little Rose ! 

She was a favorite with her fellow apprentices, though they 
pronounced her an odd, “ old-fashioned,” strange little crea- 
ture. She did not laugh as much as they did — for in spite of 
their short-commons, and hard work, and little rest, the poor 
apprentices had many a little sly joke and merry laugh 
among themselves — but she was not morose, and she was 
very grateful for any little kindness they showed her, or any 
assistance they gave her. And they also made her their 
confidante. Patty Jenkins, who would not have dropped the 
slightest hint to one of her other companions about the 
butcher’s young man who had laid successful siege to her af- 
fections, and who had actually taken her to a promenade at 
Cremorne Gardens one Sunday afternoon — Patty told little 
Rose all about it, and made Rose, who was sympathetic, 
quite interested in this desperate case of mutual affection and 
hazy love-prospects. Not that Rose understood many of 


82 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Patty’s expressions, or was old enough to enter fully into all 
the romance of the tender passion ; but Rose thought that if 
the butcher’s young man, who was described to her as a kind 
of conglomerate of a hero and a “ swell ” rolled into one, was 
at all like Lorimer Littlegood in person and attributes, it must 
be very natural in Patty to feel intensely fond of him. And 
when she asked Patty if the butcher’s young man had brought 
her there, and Patty laughed, and said she should think not 
indeed, but quite the other thing, for he wanted to take her 
away with all his might. Rose found that her knowledge of 
life was very limited after all — she could not understand the 
difference of her own position from that of the others around 
her, and with characteristic reserve she asked no questions, 
but retired within herself to brood over her own thoughts, 
and draw pictures of life utterly unlike the reality, just as she 
had done in the dark little corner at home, over her book 
with the two old engravings. 

One day, as Rose and the three other apprentices were hard 
It work at the flowers, only talking in low whispers, a double- 
knock was heard at the street door ; and about five minutes 
afterwards, Mrs. Crump sailed into the room, looking mor*e 
than usually disposed to find fault with everybody. 

“ Chattering away as usual, you idle hussies : a preeious bad 
bargain Tve made w^Ith all of you : w^hat with your laziness 
and your appetites, you’re ruining me every day, that you are. 
And now here’s a fine to-do, miss, with she said, turn- 

ing to Rose, — so you’re to have visitors coming to see you, 
are you V* 

Rose started at the word, and thought it must be Lorimer. 
Mrs. Crump guessed her thoughts in a moment. 

“ Oh no, miss, it isn’t him — quite a different sort of person, 
I can assure you. He’s old enough to be your father, or I 
should n’t let you see him.” 

At the word “father,” Rose trembled and looked down. 

“ Is it my father, ma’am 1” she asked, dreading the reply. 


EOSE KEOEIVES A MOKNING CALL. 83 

“ Your father ! No, indeed. I didn’t know you’d got one, 
goodness knows,” said Mrs. Crump, with a sneer. “ There, 
take yourself down stairs into the front room, and he quick 
oack, or it’ll be the worse for you.” 

Rose did as she was told, wondering who could have come to 
see her, and unable to think of any friend in the world but 
Lorimer. 

When she entered the parlor, she saw certainly a very dif- 
ferent looking man from Mr. Lorimer Littlegood ; for her pre- 
sent visitor was a little, sharp-featured, cunning-looking man, 
rather seedily dressed, by no means young, and not prepossess- 
ing in any way. 

“ Ah, my dear, how do you do ?” he said, evidently mean- 
ing to be extremely agreeable. “ So you’re Miss Bennoch — 
Miss Rose Bennoch — are you ? And a pretty little Rose you 
are, too — ha! ha!” And he finished with a little, short, double- 
knock laugh, intended to be friendly and encouraging, but very 
much the reverse in effect. 

“ Sit down, my dear, sit down,” he continued ; and Rose sat 
down, staring at the man, and wondering who he could be, and 
what had brought him to see her. 

“ You don’t know me, do you ?” the man went on : “ but I’m 
a very old friend of your dear father’s — a very old one. He 
and I have known one another these thirty years.’’ 

If the visitor intended to recommend himself to Rose by 
this declaration, he had certainly made a great mistake ; for 
Rose’s experience of all her father’s intimate friends was by 
no means favorable to her high appreciation of their moral 
characters. 

“ Did you ever hear your father mention Mr. Weazel, my 
dear ? because that’s me.” 

Rose said “No — she didn’t remember;” and Mr. Weazel 
expressed his opinion that that was remarkably odd, because 
he had been one of Mr. William Bennoch’s oldest and most in- 
timate friends. 


84 


LORIMER LIITLEGOOD. 


“ And how is your father, my dear continued Mr. Weazel, 
in the same friendly tone, and looking at Kose much in the 
style in which a cobra-capello may be supposed to gaze on a 
poor little bird it is trying to fascinate into its open jaws. 

“ I don’t know sir ; I haven’t seen him for a long time,” an- 
swered Rose. 

“ Ah ! he lives a long way from here, certainly,” said 
Weazel : “ I suppose he can’t find time to come so far, eh 

“No,” said Rose tremulously, and not knowing whether she 
was telling the truth. 

“ I must persuade him to come and see you, though, my 
dear ; he really ought, now and then.” 

“ Pray don’t sir ; pray don’t,” cried Rose, urgently ; and 
then she colored and felt very wretched at what she had said, 
but still could not wish it unsaid. 

“Why, don’t you like to see your father, my dear?” asked 
Weazel, with a horrid grin, and knowing perfectly well the rea- 
son of the child’s fear. 

“Yes sir; only — that is — Mrs. Crump , does’nt like me to 
have visitors,” stammered Rose, utterly unconscious, in her 
confusion, of the strong hint she was giving Weazel to walk 
off. 

“ Ain’t she very kind then, my dear ?” he asked with the 
cobra-capello look again. 

“ Ye-e-e-s,” faltered Rose. 

“ I’m sure you look very well,” said Weazel, patronisingly ; 

“ and it was very kind of Mr. Littlegood to bring you here.” 

“ Do you know him, sir ?” asked Rose, startled at the name 
into a deep interest. 

“ Oh, yes — that is — oh, yes — a very nice young man indeed ; 
very good man, don’t you think so, my dear?” 

“ Yes,” said Rose ; but this time she spoke quietly, and with 
reserve of manner, for something told her childish mind that | 
this man was not one to whom to talk of Lorimer. She did 
not believe that Lorimer knew him. 


KOSE KECEIVES A MORNING GALL. 


85 


‘‘ By-the-bye, my dear/’ said Weazel, after a pause; “I’ve 

lost your father’s address ; let me see, he lives at ” 

He hesitated, and Rose at once said — 

“No. 6 Laurel Court, Stag Street, Lambeth.” 

“Ah, to be sure,” said Weazel, repeating it after her; 
“ that’s it ; Td quite forgotten it for the moment. Well, my 
dear, perhaps Td better not keep you any longer; good bye ; 
here’s a little keepsake,” and he handed Rose a sixpence. 

“ No, thank you, sir; I don’t want it, I thank you sir,” and 
she colored so that Weazel, wonderful to relate, felt a little 
uncomfortable himself. “But, please, sir, will you be so kind 
as not — not — not to say anything about me^ sir, to father 
Weazel put on a look of intensely cunning inquiry. 

“ Why, does’nt he know 

“ Mother does, sir ; mother does,” said Rose, hastily ; and 
as Weazel still stared at her, she burst out crying. 

“Don’t cry, my dear; good bye, my dear,” said Weazel ; 
“don’t fear, I won’t say anything at all.” 

And Weazel left the room and the house, chuckling at his 
own cleverness in getting the address out of Rose. Like many 
another cunning fellow who never can believe that the straight 
open road is the nearest, he had wasted his time ; for if he had 
simply asked the one question alone, Rose would have answer- 
ed it at once, utterly unconscious of any reasons for concealing 
the iact. 


86 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XI. 

MR. WEAZEL RENEWS AN OLD FRIENDSHIP. 

If Fortune is so fickle a goddess that she will not always 
smile on those who most assiduously court her favor, she could 
scarcely be expected to show much care for a gentleman of 
such extremely irregular habits as staggering Bill. And here 
we may remark that in calling Mr. Bill Bennoch a man of “ irre- 
gular’’ habits, we have only followed the conventional phrase, 
though we are convinced of its injustice in point of fact. Those 
who are called irregular people are generally the most regular ; 
a regular drunkard, a regular roue, a regular cheat, a regular 
brute, a regular fool, all these people (and a dozen other in- 
stances might be given) are those who are otherwise called peo- 
ple of irregular lives. The truth is, that the refinement of 
civilization will not allow us to call men and things by their 
right names, and so we invent such a comparatively inoffensive 
phrase as “ irregular habits” to designate half the vices under 
the sun. 

Bill Bennoch was dreadfully out of luck. 

For some days he had positively been without the minutest 
coin of the realm, and had further used up his tick” at every 
public-house he frequented ; he had tried every “ dodge” he 
had heard of, or could invent, to raise a fresh supply of liquor, 
but at length without effect. So low was he reduced, to such 
absolute want had he reached, that he was positively obliged to 
work. It happened that Bill could always get work when he 
wanted it, for not only was he a great powerfully-built fellow, 
but he was also a very skilful man at his craft. This is a 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


87 


peculiarity observable in most drunkards : we don’t know 
whether the mailer has ever been specially noted, or its rea- 
sons inquired into, and we have not time to enlarge on the sub- 
ject now; but it is certainly true that most handicraftsmen who 
take to drinking are pronounced to be remarkably clever at their 
calling while at labor. 

Very hungry, therefore, and especially very thirsty. Bill had 
taken himself off one day from Laurel Court to a blacksmith’s 
in the neighborhood, when Mr. Weazel called to inquire after 
him. Mrs. Bennoch, who was at home, and saw that Weazel 
did not look like a pot-companion of her husband, told him 
where the latter could be found. Weazel followed her direc- 
tions, and reached the blacksmith’s forge. 

It was one o’clock, and the men had all gone to dinner, all 
but Bill Bennoch, who had no dinner to go to, and no money 
to buy one with. So Bill sat himself down on the ground, and 
thought how much he should enjoy a pot of good beer. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! there you are, eh 1’' cried a voice, in- 
terrupting Bill’s busy visions; and as Bill looked towards the 
open doorway, he saw a sharp-featured little man standing and 
nodding to him. 

“ Who are you, and what are you grinning at ?” growded 
Bill, who was in one of his sulkiest moods. 

“ What ! don’t you know your old friend. Bill cried the 
stranger. 

If you chaffs me,” answered Bill, “ you’ll just get this ham- 
mer over your head, that’s all. I reckon it won’t come very 
light when Bill Bennoch uses it.” 

“But I’m not chaffing you, my dear sir, not a bit,” said the 
other in a tone of remonstrance ; “I’m yonr old friend, Wea- 
zel, don’t you recollect me?” 

“ Who V asked Bill, with a kind of hazy idea that he had 
heard the name. 

“Wejizel — Weazel — little Tom Weazel. that you used to 
like so much,” answered the other. 


88 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Will you stand anything 1 that’s the point,” said Bill, with 
an eye to Ais main chance. 

‘‘ Of course I will ; anything you please, my good friend.” 

“ Oh, it’s all right then,” said Bill; “come in, / know you 
well enough. Every man’s my friend as will stand a pot.” 

“Where shall I get it?” asked Weazel, thinking it better 
to humor his friend at once. 

“ Over the way,” said Bill ; “ no ; stay, hand us the money, 
let me get it ; it’ll do me good, and establish a ‘ tick’ for me. 
I won’t drink any till 1 bring it in here, honor bright.” 

Weazel handed Bill half a crown, and Bill went and got a 
pot of porter, but forgot to return the change — a fact which 
Weazel did not think proper to notice. 

“Sit down there by the bellows,” said Bill; “1 like the 
ground best for myself ; can’t tumble from there ;” and he 
placed himself on the ground, with his back to the brickwork 
of the furnace, and deposited the pewter pot on the anvil, after 
having first taken a good draught at its contents. 

“ Now, what’s up ?” asked Bill. 

“ What do you mean, my good friend ?” 

“ I say, what’s up ?” repeated Bill, forcibly ; “ you don’t 
suppose I’m so green as to suppose you’re come here for the 
pleasure of my society, do you? There’s something up, I 
know ; what is it ?” 

“ Really, Bennoch, you seem to forget what intimate friends 
we used to be ; and surely it’s not very extraordinary that I 
should like to have a chat with you again.” 

“ Now just stow that humbug, will you ?” said Bill ; “’cause 
it won’t take. I do remember you now, Master Weazel ; and 
I recollect that you was always as cunning as a fox, and didn’t 
care for any man except for what you could get out of him. I 
recollect you used to lend me money, so long as there was any 
chance of my paying it back again, and precious good interest 
you used to charge. I recollect you’d clean your best friend’s 
pocket out, by hook or by crook, and lock him up in quod 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


89 


afterwards, as cool as a cucumber. I recollect you’d encourage 
men to drink, and take good care not to touch the liquor your- 
self, and then you’d get ’em to sign things, which somehow al- 
ways ruined ’em. I recollect you were the coolest, craftiest 
little villain that ever lived, but hadn’t no more pluck than a 
cat ; there now, I recollect all that (though I shan’t by-and-bye, 
mayhap), and so you see I do know you, Mr. Weazel.” 

During this recountal of his virtues, Mr. Weazel had sat 
still, looking as pale as a ghost, and grinning horribly. He 
would have liked to strangle the speaker, no doubt ; but Bill 
had formed a perfectly correct idea of his courage, or rather his 
want of it, and Bill was himself strong enough to have settled 
Weazel with a single blow. 

“ My dear friend, you are very harsh in your judgment of 
me,” said Weazel, in a hissing, sneaking tone of voice : “ 1 as- 
sure you that I’ve come here entirely for your good, and be- 
cause I think I can do you a great piece of service.” 

“ Which won’t be any money in your pocket, in course,” 
suggested Bill. 

“I don’t say that; 1 don’t say that,” replied Weazel, with 
an air of perfect candor. “ I have no doubt that if 1 helped 
you to a fortune of two or three thousand a year, you’d reward 
me handsomely.” 

“ A fortune of what ?” asked Bill. 

“Two or three thousand a year,” said Weazel, decidedly; 
“ I’ve no doubt it’s quite that ; and I’ve no doubt I shall be 
quite able to get it for you in time.” 

“ Go on,” said Bill, as the other paused for a moment ; 
“ but stay a bit ; this beer would be all the better for a drop 
of gin in it : you haven’t got another half crown about you, 
have you 

Weazel produced it, and Bill departed for a bottle of gin, 
with which he soon returned, and setting himself down on the 
ground, he bade Weazel “fire away again.” 

“ You recollect your father, don’t you asked Weazel 


90 


LOKIMEK LITTJ.EGOOD. 


Bill raised himself up a bit, and turned round to stare at 
the questioner. 

Yes, I do,” he replied, settling back again into his former 
position ; “ but I’ll tell you what it is ; if you want to ask me 
about what I recollect, you’d better do it all at once, because I 
shan’t recollect anything soon, I can tell you,” and he pointed 
to the gin bottle ; “ and it’s a deal pleasanter not to ; 1 hate 
recollecting.” 

“ Well,” said Weazel, smiling, “you must remember that 
he was a man of very good property, indeed, for he kept as 
handsome an establishment as a gentleman need wish to have, 
and he gave you a good education to ” 

“ A deal of good it’s done me,” growled Bill, who, to say 
truth, often showed signs of having been better educated in his 
youth than others of his class, though he had by degrees fallen 
into many of their vulgarities of expression. 

“At all events, he was rich,” said Weazel. 

“ 1 don’t know about that,” replied Bill, “ I was only four- 
teen when he died, and there wasn’t a halfpenny for me then, 
and so 1 was turned adrift to shift for myself, and a pretty nice 
shift I’ve made of it.” 

“Now that’s just the point,” said Weazel; “everybody 
thought your father was rich, and yet when he died there was 
nothing apparently left. He died without a will, and it turned 
out that a certain lawyer claimed mortgages on every atom of 
his property to more than its full value, so that even his furni- 
ture and plate were sold to make up the deficiency, as he had 
given bonds and personal securities besides.” 

“ Go on,” growled Bill, who was listening and half under- 
standing, but was getting gradually heavy-headed. 

“it was all a swindle,” cried Weazel, in a shrill voice, and 
with great energy. 

“ What was ?” asked Bill, wandering. 

“The securities, confound you !” cried Weazel, indignant at 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 91 

the other’s want of interest, and forgetting his fear in the ex- 
citement of the moment. 

“ Halloa !” cried Bill, “ who are you confounding ?” and he 
seized the pewter pot to hurl it at Weazel’s head, but fortu- 
nately for that gentleman the pot had liquor in it, and Bill 
was not the man to waste it, so he put it to his lips instead, 
and set it down again on the anvil, with an injunction to Wea- 
zel to “ mind what he was after, or he’d get his head broken, 
that was all.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Weazel, “but do try and attend 
to me ; I tell you that I have for years and years been looking 
into this case, and Tm quite convinced that nearly every one 
of those mortgage deeds were either forgeries altogether, or 
had been signed by your father in ignorance of what he was 
signing. Do you recollect your mother ?” asked Weazel, sud- 
denly. 

“ No, I don’t,” said Bill, surlily ; “ I don’t recollect any- 
thing.” 

Weazel suppressed an imprecation which rose to his lips, 
and then went on : — 

“Then of course you don’t recollect the name of your 
father’s lawyer ; I’ll tell you, it was Littlegood.” 

“ Very well, go on,” said Bill, on whom, to Weazel’s great 
surprise, the name made no impression. 

The truth is, that Bill Bennoch knew nothing, or next to 
nothing, of what had become of Rose. His wife had told him 
that the child had been hurt and was in the hospital ; and she 
had since even let him know that the girl had been apprenticed 
and was getting her own living. But Bill knew nothing about 
the particulars, and had never asked any questions. 

When Weazel saw that Bill appeared to know no moi’e 
about the name of Littlegood than any other, he, with his usual 
quickness of apprehension, coupled that fact with the eireum- 
stance that Rose had intimated that her father was not aware 


92 


LOEIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


of her place of dwelling, and concluded that Bill had never 
been told about Lorimer and his kindness at all. 

‘•His name was Littlegood,” said Weazel, continuing his 
story ; “ I’ve traced out all about him and his family. I can 
prove that he was a poor man before your father’s death, that 
he retired from his profession with a fortune very soon after 
that event ; that he never could have had the money to have 
made all the advances he pretended to have made ; that there 
is a confederate of his, another attorney, alive now who knows 
all about it; in fact, almost everything is in fair train to prove 
that yow, William Bennoch, are entitled to all this money as 
heir to your father ; almost everything, except one point which 
must be established, and you yourself are the only man, per- 
haps, who can tell me how to establish that, which is — ” 

Here he got off his seat and approached close tr Bill, when, 
to his intense disgust, he found him flist asleep. In his rage 
he even struck him on the shoulder, and Bill toppled over on 
his side ; but he was too far gone to notice or resent the blow, 
for while Weazel imagined that he was only drinking beer, 
Bill had in reality almost finished the gin. 

“Confound the beast,” cried Weazel; and many another 
worse and more savage oaths he uttered, and he kicked him as 
he lay on the ground. 

“ Holloa there, holloa, master !” said two or three voices, 
and, turning round, Weazel saw the blacksmith’s men returning 
to their work. 

“ He’s dead drunk,” said Weazel. 

“ That he bef cried one of the men ; “ or you durs n’t have 
kicked him like that.” 

^ “Will you help to carry him home?” said Weazel, not 
noticing the remark ; “ I’ll pay you, well.” 

“ Oh, if that’s it, we’re ready enough,” said the men. 

And so they lifted up the prostrate Bill and carried him 
home to Laurel Court. As soon as Mrs. Bennoch saw him, 
she exclaimed : — 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 93 

Why how’s this? Where did he get the liquor? Have 
any of you been fools enough to give it him ?” 

‘‘ No ; it aint us ; this here little gentleman, I take it, can 
tell you all about it,” answered one of the men. 

I wish the devil had him then,” screamed the virago. 

“ But, my good woman,” began Weazel. 

‘‘ Don’t talk to me, you miserable little wretch you,” was 
Mrs. Bennoch’s polite interruption. 

The workmen grinned ; so Weazel paid them for their 
trouble and bade them walk off. 

“ 1 tell you,” said Weazel, addressing Mrs. Bennoch again, 
“ that I’ve come on most important business.” 

“ And I tell you if you don’t walk off this very instant. I’ll 
empty every drop of these blessed suds right over you ; and 
if ever you show your ugly little face nigh this place again. I’ll 
break a poker over your head ; there now.” 

And as she rose, apparently to carry the first part of her 
threat into execution, Weazel prudently decamped. 

He imprecated Bill, and his wife, and the drink, and his own 
folly, as he went along, for he had missed his chance of getting 
a clue to the one all-important link in the chain without which 
all his dearly-cherished plans were vain, and his chance of suc- 
cess absolutely null. 


94 


LORIMER LITTLEQOOD. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CAPTAIN KELLY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 

Captain Kelly was a happy man. For once in his life, at 
least, he had a commission to execute thoroughly in accordance 
with his natural tastes. Not that he would have been satisfied 
to follow LorimePs express direction in the case : he would 
have considered such a proceeding utterly unworthy of his own 
reputation and the character of his friend. Mild remonstran- 
ces were things which he looked on with the utmost contempt 
and he could never have been persuaded that the man who 
used them was anything but a coward. He remembered per- 
fectly well that Lorimer had besought him to manage matters 
quietly and to induce Mr. Lavers, if possible, to apologize for 
his very improper letter ; but he considered this moderation 
on Lorimer’s part as merely acted for the purpose of giving 
himself a better case. A duel was, in Captain Kelley's opin- 
ion, the only possible result of what had taken place, and he 
was quite determined that nothing should be wanting on his 
part to carry out the proceedings entirely eyi regie. To do him 
justice, he would rather have been principal than second in such 
an affair — a taste in which few of us will coincide. The love of 
fighting, however, was as natural to Captain Kelly as it is to 
game cocks and bull terriers : he looked upon it as one of the 
highest felicities of life, and only regretted that civilization had 
made men so polite and forbearing towards one another that 
the chance of calling a man out was become lamentably rare. 
That anybody who happened to be blest with one of these 
scarce oportunities should neglect it or spoil it, was inconceiva- 


CAPTAIN KELLY PERFOKMS HIS MISSION. 95 


ble in the gallant Captain’s eyes, and we are not sure that he 
would not have considered it a piece of ingratitude to the 
Providence that gave him such a blessing. 

Reflecting in this manner, the Captain left Lorimer Littlegood 
and walked straight to Mr. Lavers’s lodgings. On reaching 
them, he had the mortification to learn that Mr. Lavers was 
out of town, and was not expected home till late at night. He 
was, therefore, doomed to pass the rest of the da}/ in disappoint- 
ment, and the night in longing for the hour to arrive when he 
might pay another visit to Charles street. 

At an early hour the next morning, Captain Kelly arose, 
and swallowing a hasty breakfast, he sallied forth, called a 
Hansom cab, and drove to the lodgings of the doomed Lavers. 

“ Is Mr. Lavers wdthin ?’\he asked. 

Yes, sir ; but he’s not up,” replied the servant. 

“ Oh, never mind that, 1 just step up to him,” cried the cap- 
tain. 

“ Inded you mustn’t, sir,” replied the servant, “I’d lose my 
place if I’d let you, sir.” 

Captain Kelly was about to overcome these objections by 
the simple expedient of taking the girl by the shoulders and 
thrusting her aside, when the landlord of the house appeared 
and assured him that Mr. Lavers had only returned very late 
from the country, and that he could not possibly allow him to 
be disturbed so early. The Captain was, therefore, again 
baulked iu his benevolent intentions, and had to walk off in a 
most unenviable state of mind. Indeed if Mr. Lavers could only 
have overheard the Captain’s muttered imprecations against 
his devoted body and bones, he would have sent at once to the 
nearest police-station for protection against the irate Irishman. 

Captain Kelly strolled into St. James Park and entered the 
pretty garden which, being rather a credit to London, the au- 
thorities intend to chop in half and disfigure, lest cockneys should 
be too proud of the picturesque in their smoky city. Here 
he endeavored to while away the time by w^atching the ducks, 


00 * LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 

and making love to the servant girls who were airing small 
families thus early in the morning. This last was a pursuit 
in which he greatly excelled, having captured the hearts of pro- 
bably more nursery-maids than any other gentleman of his 
age or experience. It is true that while indulging in this inno- 
cent amusement the small families were left to take care of 
themselves, and run risks of being drowned and gobbled up 
by the ducks ; but what had Captain Kelly to do with such 
trifles ? 

To-day, however, he was singularly unsuccessful, which is to 
be imputed to the very unamiable frame of mind in which he 
found himself. He looked grim, and when he attempted one 
of the leers, which he had often found to produce so strong an 
effect, the nursery maids were rather alarmed than otherwise, 
and the children were disposed to cry and to imagine that he 
was one of the ogres of which they had read in favorite story- 
books. The very ducks shunned the Captain ; he didn’t look 
like a man who came to give them bits of bread, but far more 
like one who would delight to devour them, roasted, and duly 
stuffed with sage and onions. 

At length the clock struck ten, and Captain Kelly left the 
Park, and resolved to make one more effort to see Mr. Lavers. 

This time he was more fortunate, for after a little discussion 
with the servant girl, a compliment to her good looks, and a 
bribe thrust into her hand, he was allowed to pass up-stairs 
to the second-floor front room where Mr Lavers was reposing. 

A loud and hurried knock at the door produced only a 
sleepily muttered “ come in ” from Lavers, who mentally 
cursed the servant for disturbing him so soon, but was far too 
somnolent to make any expostulations. Even the “ come in ” 
was unnecessary, for Captain Kelly opened the door at the 
same moment that he knocked at it, and rushed into the room. 

“ Did you you write this, then, Mr. Lavers, or didn’t you 
he cried, pulling a note, or the part of one, from his pocket. 
“ Now don’t be denying your own fist like a paltry fellow ; 


CAPTAIN KELLY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 97 

you know you wrote it, and you know it’s a pack of dirty lies, 
and you must own you’re a miserable little liar, or it’s every 
bone in your body I’ll break ; unless, maybe, you’ll come out 
and fight like a man, and that’s just what I don’t believe you’ve 
the pluck to do, and I tell you so to your face.” 

To describe the volubility with which Captain Kelly uttered 
this lucid sentence would be as impossible as to depict the look 
of profound, though sleepily -perturbed wonder with which Mr. 
Lavers regarded him. He hardly knew who it was that was 
speaking to him, and he had not the remotest conception of 
the subject on which the Captain was talking. 

“Who are you, sir 1” he cried, “and what are you doing 
here 

“ And you don’t know Captain Kelly, don’t you was the in- 
dignant reply, “ and you have not an idea of what he’s come 
for, eh? — and you didn’t write this letter, did you? — and 
you’re not a dirty little liar, are you ?” 

And the Captain talked as fast as ever, and at every fresh 
query he whirled his stick about in a style worthy of Donny- 
brook fair. 

“ Will you leave my room, sir?” cried Lavers. 

“ Did you write this letter ?” shouted Captain Kelly. 

“ Leave my room, sir !” roared Lavers. 

“ Did you write it, eh ?” said the Captain, giving poor Lavers 
a hard thrust with his stick. 

“ Leave my room, you scoundrel, or I’ll send for the police.” 

“ Ah you will have it, will you ?” roared the Captain, in a 
louder voice than ever, and he raised the stick and belabored 
the unlucky man, who screamed with pain and terror, while 
Kelly flourished the letter with one hand and the stick with the 
other, and while thrashing the prostrate man, kept shouting— 

“ And didn’t ye write it, and ain’t you a dirty little liar ?” 

The people of the house — the landlady and the landlord, and 
the servants, and the lodgers — had rushed up stairs hearing the 
noise, and thrusting their heads over one another into the room 


93 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


they saw the extraordinary scene of the big Captain thrashing 
the recumbent Lavers, and both of them shouting and roaring 
against one another. And with the usual want of ready pluck 
which distinguishes such people, not one of them thought of 
rushing in and seizing Captain Kelly till a policeman had been 
procured to aid them, when the gallant Captain was made pris- 
oner, not without fierce resistance on his part, and poor Lavers 
had been, meanwhile, almost beaten to a mummy. 

The policeman conveyed Captain Kelly without further par- 
ley to the station-house, and duly charged him with a gross 
and violent assault, which he had partly witnessed himself. 
The Captain, though indignant at being placed in durance, 
treated the matter with great contempt, and magnanimously 
warned the police of the danger that might result to themselves 
from venturing to lay hands on so distinguished a warrior as he 
was. The sergeant smiled and the constables grinned ; and it was 
gently suggested to Captain Kelly that, as he would be taken 
at once before the sitting magistrate, it might be as well to 
provide himself with bail, in case he should be remanded — a 
contingency most likely to occur, as it w^as very doubtful whe- 
ther Lavers would be able to appear to-day, so soon after the 
dreadful beating he had undergone. 

Captain Kelly thought there was prudence in the advice ; 
and so, requesting the accommodation of writing materials, he 
sat down and penned the following note to Lorimer Littlegood : 

“ Police station^ Vine street, 

“My dear Littlegood, 

“ Here I am surrounded by the myrmidons of the law (the 
Peelers, in case you’re not up in your classics), all in conse- 
quence of my delivering your remonstrance to that miserable 
little piece of humanity, Lavers. They say I’ll want bail, as 
I’m going before the beaks ; so please come and release me 
from the clutches of the magistrate. Thank God, I must have 
broken some of his bones ! and so remain 

“ Your affectionate friend, 

“ Phil Kelly.” 


CAPTAIN KELLY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 99 


When Lo rimer received this epistle, he was lounging in his 
usual style over his breakfast. 

“ Confound the fellow ! what can he have been doing he 
cried, jumping up. “ Here Job — be quick — get me a Hansom, 
bring my boots and my coat. The devil take all Irishmen ! I 
might have known he would have done something violent or 
absurd. A pretty piece of business Pm in for.” 

The cab came ; Lorimer jumped into it, drove to Vine 
street, and found that Captain Kelly had just been conveyed to 
Marlborough Street, to be taken before the magistrate. On 
arriving at the latter place, he saw the gallant captain in the 
box, haranguing the sitting magistrate on the enormity of him 
— a captain in twenty services, and the hero of five hundred 
battles — being dragged off to a police station like a felon. 

The magistrate quietly informed him that he had only to at- 
tend to the charge before him, which so far as he had heard the 
account of, it appeared to him most violent and even brutal. 

Hereupon the captain began to foam, and to express his opin- 
ion that Mr. Lavers was a wretched little tailor, and the son 
of a tailor, and was unworthy any other treatment than that of 
being beaten like a cur of the very lowest degree. 

The magistrate cut him short by telling him he must enter 
into recognizances in the sum of £500, to appear on a future 
day, and find a friend to become his security to a similar 
amount. 

“ Sure, that’s easy done,” cried Captain Kelly ; “ for here’s 
my friend, Mr. Lorimer Littlegood, that’s worth ten thousand 
a-year, and will be bail for me to any amount. For wasn’t it 
for his sake, and all about a dirty letter written by that miser- 
able little Lavers, speaking disrespectfully of Miss Stanley, 
who is ” 

“ That will do ; I have heard enough for the present,” said 
the magistrate, to the great relief of Lorimer, who was getting 
dreadfully annoyed and indignant at the captain’s entering into 


100 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


the full history of the affair, and dragging in the very name he 
wished to save from publicity. 

The recognizances were duly entered into, and Captain Kelly 
released to walk off with Lorimer. 

“ What the deuce have you been doing 1” cried the latter. 

“ Sure, I took your remonstrance to Mr. Lavers, didn’t 11” 
answered the captain, surlily. 

“ But you must have done something beyond remonstrating,” 
said Lorimer. 

“ The little wretch ordered me out of his room, and I laid 
my stick about his miserable shoulders,” replied Kelly. 

“ Why you must have been mad ! ” exclaimed Lorimer. 

“ I don’t understand you, sir,” cried the captain, indignantly. 

And the next time you want to convey a remonstrance, per- 
haps you’ll have the goodness to select some other messenger 
than Captain Kelly.” 

“ I promise you that,” said Lorimer, smiling in spite of his 
vexation. 

“ I wish you good day, sir,” said the captain. 

And he walked off with the air of an offended and ill-used 
man ; nay, more, he actually and honestly believed himself so 
to be. 


MR. BOSHER’S STRANGE CLIENT. 


:oi 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MR. BOSHEr’s strange CLIENT. 

Mr. Bosher, attorney-at-law, was sitting in his office, among 
the tin boxes containing the title-deeds and mortgages, receiving 
his clients. Mr. Bosher possessed a great talent in this line. 
He knew exactly the degree of respect, affability, or conde- 
scension to measure out to each class who called on him. He 
was perfectly aware that a country gentleman of acres and po- 
sition, and a country shopkeeper of chandlery and puffing, were 
two very distinct animals, and required an entirely opposite 
treatment. There were also farmers and tradesmen of a su- 
perior class, noblemen and professional men, among his clients, 
and to each he behaved in due style. To the noble lord who 
called on him regarding the purchase of a few fresh farms to 
add to his estate, or the mortgage of some of his oldest family 
acres to add to his ready money, he was subservient, respect- 
ful, and flattering. To the next degree of society — the country 
gentlemen of county influence — he was a shade less obsequious, 
though perfectly respectful, assuming the air of a well-tried, 
confidential family adviser. To the merchants and professional 
men he behaved as a candid, open-hearted equal, though, at the 
same time, as one who feels flattered by the trust reposed in him. 
The farmers and shopkeepers he treated in a style of patronizing 
honhojnmie^ which made them regard him as an excellent gen- 
tleman, much to be reverenced and greatly to be loved. As 
for the lower order of clients — the small shopkeepers or smaller 
laborers — they were not sufficiently profitable as clients to 
merit any great attention on the part of Mr. Bosher ; and, 


102 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


therefore, towards them he assumed a stern air of superiority 
which made them bow to his commands with the servility 
which is shown by most people when any one is firm and bold 
enough to trample on them. 

Mr. Bosher had already received a marquis, two country 
squires, an apothecary, and a grocer, and dismissed them, all 
thoroughly convinced that he w'as the very prince of attorneys, 
when the clerk opened his door, and announced : — 

“Mr. Weazel.” 

“ Who is he ? What is he ?” asked Mr. Bosher, who never 
had heard the name before. 

“ He is from London, sir, he says ; and he wishes to see you 
on important business.” 

“ Very well ; send him in. Some London attorney’s clerk, 
I suppose, who gives his own name instead of his master^s.” 

The clerk ushered in our friend Mr. Weazel, and handed him 
a chair. 

“ My name is Weazel,” began that gentleman, clearing his 
throat, and assuming his favorite grin. 

“So I heard, sir,” replied Mr. Bosher, with a cold, patroniz- 
ing bow ; for Mr. Bosher had glanced at his visitor, run his eye 
quickly over him from head to foot, and decided that Mr* 
Weazel was not a man requiring any particular degree of 
respect from him. 

“ 1 have called to see you on very important business,” said 
W eazel. 

Bosher bowed, knowing perfectly well that every client fan- 
cies his own business the most important in the world. 

“You know the name of Littlegood, I believe?” continued 
Weazel. 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Bosher ; and then muttered to him- 
self ; “ something about that young scapegrace, Mr. Lorimer, 
I suppose. I daresay the fellow’s a creditor of his.” 

“And perhaps,” said Weazel, looking like a cat about to 


MR. BOSIIER’S STRANGE CLIENT. 103 

seize on a mouse — “ perhaps you will be able also to recall the 
name of Bennoch 1 ” 

Mr. Bosher moved rather hastily in his chair at the sound of 
this name, but at the same time very slightly. He did not 
answer immediately, but glanced keenly and quickly at his 
questioner. Then assuming his usual calm and undemonstra- 
tive manner, he said : 

“Bennoch — Bennoch — oh — ah — yes — let me see. Wasn’t 
that the gentleman upon whose estates the father of the late 
Mr. Littlegood had several mortgages ? ” 

“ Exactly so ; I see you recollect him,” cried Weazel, grin- 
ning in a manner meant to be pleasant : “ I thought you would.” 

“ I’ve heard of him,” said Mr. Bosher ; “ in fact, I almost 
believe that some business relative to Mr. Bennoch and Mr. 
Littlegood once passed through my office ; but it is so long 
since that 1 have forgotten all about it.” 

“Perhaps I can help you to recollect it,” suggested Weazel, 
with the same grin. “ You don’t happen to remember that at 
Mr. Bennoch’s death Mr. Litth'good claimed everything he 
died possessed of — do you 

“ 1 believe Mr. Littlegood’s mortgages were very heavy ; in 
fact, I fancy 1 prepared some of them myself,” replied Bosher^ 

“ Precisely so,” said Weazel. “Excuse me, Mr. Bosher, 
but I think you’ll soon recollect all about it. You remember 
that Mr. Bennoch had a son ?” 

“ I know nothing about Mr. Bennoch’s family affiiirs,” an- 
swered Bosher, assuming an air of extremely proper professional 
reserve. 

“Well, I daresay I shall be able to make you acquainted 
with them, Mr. Bosher,” said Weazel. “ Mr. Bennoch had a 
son.” 

“ Before we proceed any further in this extremely vague and 
strange conversation,” interrupted Mr. Bosher, in his most dig 
nified air — an air that never failed to produce a proper effect — 


104 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ allow me to ask who you*are, and what is the object of yoT# 
visit ? 

“ You know who I am,” replied the other : “ I’m Mr. 
Weazel— ” 

“ A professional man V* asked Bosher. 

“ Not exactly.” 

“Then in what capacity, and for what object, do you call 
on me ?” 

“I call, sir,” answered Weazel, fixing his sharp eyes eageily 
on the attorney’s face — “I call as the friend of Mr. W illiam 
Bennoch, only son and heir-at-law of the late Mr. Bennocli, 
whose property so wonderfully melted away from his posses- 
sion, and passed into that of Mr. Littlegood.” 

“ Well asked Bosher, quite quietly, when the other paused 
to observe the effect of his reply. 

“ Well, sir, Mr. William Bennoch being convinced that his 
father was unjustly defrauded of his property by Mr. Little- 
good, is determined to proceed against the heirs of the latter 
for its recovery.” 

“ You call on me, then,” said Mr. Bosher, in a perfectly un- 
moved and business-like manner, — “ you call on me, then as 
the solicitor of the heirs of Mr, Littlegood V* 

“Just so,” answered Weazel, rather staggered at the cool- 
ness of the other. 

“ Then you must excuse me, Mr. W^eazel, but I really cannot 
have any further conversation with you on the matter. Mr. 
Bennoch must instruct his solicitor to address to me whatever 
he may have to say regarding this strange delusion he appears 
to have got into his head — that is to say, supposing there is 
such a person as Mr. William Bennoch, though I really never 
heard of the late Mr. Bennoch ever having been married. I 
suppose you have clear proof of his identity and legitimacy ;” 
and, notwithstanding the indifferent manner in which he had 
been speaking, Mr. Bosher laid very strong emphasis on the 
last word. 


MK. BOSHER»S STRANGE CLIENT. 105 

WeazeFs satisfied grin was gone. Weazel looked posed ; 
Weazel felt himself somehow scarcely a match for the attor- 
ney, who, while acting the most complete indifference, had at 
once pounced upon the missing link of W eazePs chain of evi- 
dence, and apparently detected its deficiency at a glance. 

“ Oh, we can easily prove all that !” was his reply after a 
short pause ; but the tone of the answer lacked the confidence 
which the words themselves intimated ; and if any acute ob- 
server had at that moment glanced at Mr. Bosher’s face, he 
would have detected a smile of triumph, hasty and slight, but 
not the less decided. 

“Very well, then,” he observed, in the same tone as before; 
“his solicitor, as I said, had better communicate with me.” 

“ I think he had better not — at all events for your own sake, 
Mr. Bosher,” answered Weazel. 

“ What do you mean, sir asked the attorney, with a look 
of surprise. “ I really doift understand you.” 

“ Then the sooner we understand one another the better,” 
replied W eazel, with his favorite grin again returning. “ W hat I 
mean is this — that you are just as much implicated in these 
matters as your former friend and companion — Mr. Littlegood 
— that the proceedings will be as much against you as against 
the heirs of Mr. Littlegood, and that my friend is fully deter- 
mined to have every penny refunded of the inheritance he has 
been defrauded of, and to punish those who defrauded him, or, 
at least, the sole survivor — yourself.” 

“ The sooner you leave my office, sir, the better,” cried the 
attorney ; “ you must be either insane or intoxicated to address 
such language to me. Do you suppose, sir, that /, Mr. Bosh- 
er, the best known solicitor in this county, the confidential ad- 
viser of its noblest and most influential families, the trustee of 
half the entailed estates it contains — do you suppose that /, 
sir, care for the threats of a man like yourself, the agent of a 
fellow who is either a bastard or an impostor altogether! 
Leave my office, sir.” 


100 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Never in Weazel’s lifetime had he been so completely stag- 
gered. He was as much convinced of Bosher’s guilt as of his 
own existence. He was conscious of possessing excellent proofs 
of the transactions he intended to expose. He also felt that 
he had Bosher in his power ; and yet the attorney assumed the 
appearance of such high-minded innocence, and such utter con- 
tempt for himself and his threats, as seemed quite irreconcilable 
with the real state of the case. He was really half a minute 
before he could make any reply. At length he said : — 

“Very well, sir, I shall go; but allow me to observe that I 
have private letters of your own and the late Mr. Littlegood, 
and other documentary evidence, quite sufficient to prove the 
fraud that was committed on Mr. Bennoch, and to invalidate 
the title of the present possessors of his property ; these docu- 
ments I shall at once place in the hands of a respectable solici- 
tor, and we shall see how Mr. Bosher will like the result.” 

So saying, Weazel rose, and moved tow^ards the door. 

“ One moment, Mr. Weazel,” cried Bosher, interrupting his 
progress. “ Really, the course you have pursued is so en- 
tirely unprofessional, and the insinuations against my own 
character so very absurd, that I have been betrayed into more 
warmth of temper than I wished to exhibit. Will you sit 
down again for one instant 

Weazel did so, and resumed his old grin; he felt that his 
turn was coming to triumph now. 

“ May I ask you what makes you feel so peculiar an interest 
in this case asked Bosher. 

“ Mr. William Bennoch is my friend,” replied Weazel. 

“ Who will handsomely reward you if you procure him an 
estate,” suggested Bosher, with a smile at once pleasant and 
confidential — a smile that seemed to say : We perfectly un- 
derstand one another, and you needn’t fear my telling any one. 

“ Very likely he will,” replied Weazel looking knowing and 
cunning. 

“ But whom you might be induced to leave in the lurch if 


5111. BOSIIEK’S STKANGE CLIENT. 107 

Other and more worthy people would make it worth your 
while — eh And again Mr. Bosher assumed such a confi- 

dential tone, that Weazel was thrown off his guard and winked 
assentingly. 

‘‘ That want of proof that Mr. Bennoch ever had a son, or 
ever was married, is a great defect in your case,” observed 
Bosher, as if talking to himself. 

It is.” 

“ Precisely so, sir,” said Bosher, in an entirely different tone 
now, and rising from his seat. ‘‘ You have no such proof, and 
you never will have ; and, therefore, I wish you good-day, and 
despise your absurd threats.” 

Weazel was astonished at the sudden change of tone and 
manner in Mr. Bosher, and in an instant saw that he had been 
entrapped into betraying his own secret. He ground his teeth 
with rage, while his grin became perfectly diabolical as he looked 
savagely at Bosher and left his office, muttering vengeance. 

As soon as he was gone, Mr. Bosher sank into his chair, and 
rested his head for some moments on his hands, his elbows on 
he table. 

“ Danger — danger — ruin if successful,” he murmured. “ That 
fellow will, perhaps, go to the Littlegoods and alarm them. I 
had better call on them at once ; the mother’s a fool, but the 
daughter is a girl of sense, and fit for a better fate than I feax 
awaits her. I’ll go and talk to her.” 


103 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD 


CHAPTER XIV. 

PLEASANT PROSPECTS FOR LORIMER. 

“ Marlborough Street. — Brutal Assault — Mysterious Case, 
— Yesterday, a tall military-looking man, with immense 
whiskers and a strong Hibernian accent, who gave his name as 
Captain Kelly, was brought before this Court, charged with 
having committed a most violent and brutal assault on a gen- 
tleman namen Lavers, residing in Charles Street, St. James’s 
Square. The complainant was too ill from the injuries he had 
received, to attend ; but, from the evidence of the police con- 
stable and others, it appeared that Captain Kelly had forced his 
way into Mr. Lavers’s bedroom, and flourishing a letter in his 
hand, had proceeded to belabor the unfortunate gentleman, 
while in bed, with a thick stick, applying the grossest epithets 
to him all the while. He was at length secured and carried off 
to the police station. The magistrate remanded the defendant 
until the unfortunate complainant should be able to attend, but 
consented to accept bail in the meantime. The defendant was 
bound over in his own recognizances, and Mr. Lorimer Little- 
good became his surety likewise. From what we could gather, 
the latter is implicated in this disgraceful transaction, which 
arises out of some affair connected with a Miss Stanley, who 
appears to be a chere amie of one or both of these gentlemen'’^ 

Such was the pleasant little newspaper paragraph that met 
Lorimer’s eyes (under the head of “ Police”) the day after 
Captain Kelly’s redoubtable exploit. As soon as he had read, 
it, he naturally grew furious, swore most reprehensibly, and de- 
voted Captain Kelly, Mr. Lavers, police, and newspaper report- 


PLEASANT PROSPECTS. 


109 


ers to unpleasant regions paved with virtuous intentions. To 
do him justice, he was most indignant at the introduction of the 
name of Miss Stanley, and the horrible insinuation against her 
character. What could he do ? How could he ever clear him- 
self in her eyes and the eyes ol her mother ? How could he 
protect her from further annoyance in the matter ? The pub- 
licity given to his own name would have been unpleasant 
enough under other circumstances, but in the present instance, 
he was so overwhelmed with horror and disgust at the infamous 
inuendo regarding a virtuous young lady, that he forgot his 
own share in the matter, except so far as it was connected 
with hers. 

At one moment he thought of rushing off to Kelly, and 
wreaking vengeance on his head. But what good purpose could 
be thereby effected ? and who knew in what mysterious haunt 
of the great metropolis the hero of five hundred battles lived ? 
Another idea was to write to the papers, and state the whole 
truth. But that was only to make publicity more public. 
Besides this, though we don’t pretend that Lorimer thought of 
it, it is a great mistake to write letters to the newspapers. No 
good ever results from it to any man who is not a profes- 
sional writer, and working for his living through that means. 
Anonymous letters count for nothing ; the editor inserts them 
when they entirely coincide with his own views, or, perhaps, when 
he chooses to allow a little controversy to go on in his paper at 
a time when news is scarce, and on a topic on which he has no 
opinion to express. Letters signed with initials, or with some 
well know nom de plume^ are generally paid for as much as the 
leading articles or the reports, and consequently quite valueless 
as letters^ purporting to come from outsiders and not regular 
contributors. Letters about street organs, beggars, railways, 
hotels and so forth, are all very well in their way, though the 
people who write them must have very little else to occupy 
their time. Letters on purely personal matters are a very 
great mistake, and the man who writes them must be as great a 


110 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


noodle as the editor who admits them. The truth is, that ninety- 
nine people out of a hundred are desperately fond of seeing their 
bad English and worse grammar in print, and so send letters 
to newspapers under pretence of vindicating their characters or 
correcting errors, but in reality, either to gain vulgar notoriety, 
to puff' themselves or their business, or to “ appear in print.” 

Lorirner wisely abandoned the idea of waiting to the papers 
as calculated to increase the evil of publicity which already 
vexed him so seriously. At length he adopted a resolution 
which was manly and straightforward, if not prudent, namely, 
to call on the Stanleys at once, and offer every apology in his 
power, and beg them to advise him how to act. He, there- 
fore, ordered his cabriolet, and drove at once to their house. 

“Not at home,” was the quiet reply of the servant who 
opened the door, when Job knocked at it. The answer was 
disheartening, especially as Lorirner could have sworn that he 
had caught a glimpse of Mrs. Stanley near the window just 
as he drew up. 

“ They will never receive me again,” he thought, as he drove 
away, “ and it is all my own fault, for if I had gone to Lavers 
myself, or selected any other emissary than that confounded 
Irishman, I should never have given them the pain and annoy- 
ance that they must now be suffering.” 

Here he gave his mare such a cut with the whip as made her 
jump into the air, and nearly unshipped our friend Job Peck 
from his perch behind the cabriolet. 

He returned home in a terrible ill-humor, and determined 
not to leave the house again that day, unless he should hit up- 
on some plan of operations that might demand his presence 
elsewhere. Walking up and down the room, and thinking, and 
plotting to no purpose, he at length mechanically took up some 
of the square formal-looking letters which were lying on the 
table addressed to him. 

They were nearly all bills. 

It is curious to see how a man, who fancies liis whole atten- 


PLEASANT PROSPECTS. 


Ill 


tion devoted to one subject, will find himself half unconscious- 
ly becoming engrossed by an entirely opposite one. Thus 
Lorimer Littlegood, who never troubled himself about his 
debts, began suddenly to look carefully over his bills, and 
reckon up their amounts, at the very moment when he was 
writhing under the pain of an event which, he imagined, had 
absorbed all his thoughts. Certainly he might be pardoned for 
being led away by the extraordinary number of “ little bills’’ 
(so termed by their senders) which lay before him. 

To recapitulate them would be to fill a budget as large as 
that annual abomination of the name presented to a disgusted 
House of Commons by a long-winded Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer. Suffice it to say, that Lorimer became so interested 
in them as to take down their amounts on a sheet of paper, 
and to add them up ; and we may perhaps forgive him for 
being slightly astonished at finding them amount to £2,586 7s, 
9d. 

“ How can I possibly owe all this* money 1” cried Lorimer 
to himself. 

Perhaps a more sensible question would have been, “ How 
can I possibly pay it Nothing is easier than to get into debt 
— few things more difficult than to^get out of it again. Lori- 
mer had glided pleasantly along the easy path into the pit, and 
he had now to try the difficult one of backing out again. 

“ I must really look over these bills carefully. I wonder 
whether J ob knows anything about figures.” He rang the bell, 
and Job appeared. “Job, you can read and write, I know, 
can you cast up accounts 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Job, slightly offended at the bare idea 
of his acquirements being depreciated. “ Anything up to long 
division, sir.” 

“ Very well. Now, look here. Job ; take all these bills and 
read every item carefully. If you find any mistakes of reck- 
oning, make a note of it on that sheet of paper ; any of the 
things that seein very much overcharged (at least, such things 
8 


112 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


as you know anything about), let me know. Add all the bills 
up separately, to see if they are correctly cast up. You may 
sit here and do it. I am going out.” 

Excessively delighted at this proof of confidence on the part 
of his master was Job Peck, and he set at once earnestly to 
his novel task. It took him three hours to get through it, and 
gave him a violent headache; but Job succeeded in taxing all 
the stable bills and some of the household ones. As to the 
tailors, jewellers, confectioners, hosiers, perfumers, dec., &;c.. 
Job could only open his eyes in intense surprise at their charges 
but had not the remotest idea whether they were proper ones 
or not. When he came eventually to cast all the bills togeth- 
er, and to discover the grand total. Job felt half sick with ap- 
prehension, and at the same time half wild with delight ; for 
he was convinced that his master was either a ruined man or a 
second Monte Christo, a gentleman concerning whom he had 
read in a very bad translation of M. Dumas’ work. 

While Lorimer Littlegood left Job at his new employment, 
he set forth to call upon some of his most intimate friends, and 
find out whether any of them could tell him where Captain 
Kelly resided. He was quite unsuccessful till he met O’Neil. 

It is a fact which the most unobservant of our readers must 
have noted, that Irishman in London all know one another, 
though they are sometimes on intimate terms and sometimes 
on bad ones ; but, whether nominally friends or not, they al- 
ways know one another’s histories, haunts, and pursuits, and 
invariably give one another bad characters. We never knew 
one Irishman to speak well of another behind his back ; that 
is to say, London Irishmen — ^because the London specimen of 
the Emerald Islander is by no means a fair one of the whole 
nation. As the worst samples of the English are to be found 
in the various continental cities, so the least favorable speci- 
mens of the Irish are to be seen away from their own country. 
It may still remain a question, however, why they backbite 
each other so pertinaciously : the most probable solution is 


PLEASANT PKOSPECTS. 


113 


that “ as two of a trade never agree,” so London Irishmen 
being generally of a trade to which we won’t give a name, are 
naturally jealous of competition. 

“ Between ourselves, my dear, Littlegood,” observed O’Neil 
(Irishmen are always very affectionate too), “ that same Cap- 
tain Kelly is a shocking scoundrel. Of course I don’t want to 
quarrel with him, so you won’t hint a word of what I say ; 
but you really should have as little to do with him as pos- 
sible.” 

“ I dare say you’re quite right,” replied Lorimer, “ and I 
heartily wish I never had had anything to do with him, for he 
has got me into this confounded mess, and I don’t see my way 
out of it clearly.” 

“ 1 do,” said O’Neil. 

“ How 1” asked Lorimer. 

“ Don’t you think he will be heavily punished by the magis- 
trate for his assault on Lavers ?” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said Lorimer. 

“ He would get a month or two of imprisonment without 
the option of a fine ; don’t you think so ?” continued O’Neil. 

“ I really believe so.” 

“ For how much are you his bail demanded O’Neil. 

“ One thousand pounds ; he was to have had two sureties 
in five hundred each, but the magistrate consented to take me 
in the whole sum instead.” 

“ You had better have the cash ready then,” remarked 
O’Neil. 

“ Why so inquired Lorimer, surprised. 

“ My dear fellow, just because Kelly knows what the result 
of this affair would be as well as you or I, and I’ll bet you 
twenty pounds he has bolted already.” 

You don’t really mean that !” 

“ I do ; now go and see for yourself. Here’s his address : 
5 Russell Court, Brydges Street, Covent Garden.” 

“ What a strange address !” exclaimed Lorimer. 


114 


"COlirMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“You’ll find the place still more remarkable than the name 
of it, I think,” answered O’Neil, with a laugh. “ My dear 
fellow^, he is a regular low adventurer, upon my soul he is, — a 
man quite unfit for you to associate with. But you had better 
go and look after him at once.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Lorimer, and he took a cab and drove 
to Russell Court. 

“ Hooray ! here’s a swell !” shouted a troop of small dirty 
boys as Lorimer entered the court ; “give us a copper your 
honor, — leave him alone, he don’t have such wulgar things, — 
a sixpence, your honor ; or we don’t mind a shilling, you honor ; 
or you can stand a pot, your honor and so went on the young 
blackguards, while Lorimer smiling in spite of the humor he 
was in, forced his way through them. 

“ Does Captain Kelly live here he asked of a slatternly- 
woman at the door. 

“ No, hang him ! he did ; but he’s bolted this blessed morn- 
ing ; and, what’s more, he hasn’t paid me his rent,” she re- 
plied. 

“ But how do you know that he isn’t coming back ?” asked 
Lorimer. 

“ Because the dirty thief has taken everything he had with 
him — it wasn’t much, to be sure — and he’s been and sent me 
the key of his room in a letter, and never paid the post — bad 
luck to the villain !” 

“ He’s a great rascal,” muttered Lorimer, aloud. 

“ True for you,” answered the woman. 

Lorimer turned away, and drove home. “O’Neil was 
right,” said he : “I must write to Bosher to raise the money.” 


JOB PECK’S HOLIDAY 


115 


CHAPTER XV. 

JOB peck’s holiday. 

Job Peck performed his task so well that his master was 
happy to give him a holiday. So one fine morning, Job dress- 
ed himself in his best, prepared to astonish his friends and re- 
lations, and to enjoy himself thoroughly. 

Job was a well-made lad ; and the clothes he wore, having 
been his master’s, and very little worn, Job looked almost like 
a gentleman, when fully equipped. The exceptional parts of 
his costume were the gloves and the boots. Job’s hands could 
not be persuaded by any manner of coaxing to make their way 
into a pair of Lorimer’s gloves, so that all those cast-off arti- 
cles were useless to poor Job, and he was obliged to don a 
pair of his own white Berlins. Job’s feet, too, were rather 
large — broad and knobby — and his master’s being small and 
well-shaped, it was hopeless to attempt to thrust his feet into 
Mr. Littlegood’s Wellingtons. However, Job had very respect- 
able top-boots, and who was to see the tops under his trow- 
sers ? 

Just as Job was about to leave the house, the double knock 
of the postman was heard, and two letters were delivered, ad- 
dressed to his master. Partly from a wish to appear attentive, 
and partly also from a desire to display the present elegance 
of his personal appearance, Job took them up to Lorimer’s 
room himself. 

“ Come in,” cried his master ; and Job entered. 

Lorimer smiled — though he would not let Job see that he 

d so — at Job’s costume, and took the letters. 


116 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“Stay a moment, Job,” he said, and opened the envelopes. 

One was from Mr. Bosher, and informed him that “ there 
would be very great difficulty in raising the £1,000 — indeed, 
he could by no means promise to do so at all ; and he might 
add, that it would probably be necessary for Lorimer to pre- 
pare himself for events which might lead to serious change in 
his position and fortune.” 

Lorimer read and re-read the letter, but could make nothing 
of it, so mysteriously was it worded. Indeed, he began to sus- 
pect that old Bosher must have written it after dinner, and after 
a bottle of port, too. “ Change in his position and fortune ! 
What could it mean But stay — there was another letter — 

it was from his sister — and it might, perhaps, be more explana- 
tory. 

He opened it, and read as follows : 

“My dearest brother, 

“ Mr. Bosher has beer here to-day, and has held a long dis- 
cussion with me — mama being unwell in her room. The sub- 
ject of our conversation was far from a pleasant one, though 
1 cannot say i clearly understand it. You know his mysterious 
way of talking — a manner which always makes me feel a dis- 
trust of him — and therefore you will readily excuse my -want 
of comprehension. It appears that there is some person who 
claims all our property, declaring that our grandfather came 
by it wrongfully. Mr. Bosher does not seem to attach very 
great importance to this claim, but he says there may be a 
great deal in it, and that it behooves us all, therefore, to be very 
careful and economical, as, in case of litigation, we shall want 
all the ready money w^e can command ; and if we are beaten, 
we may have to refund what we have spent of the estate. I 
am telling you, as nearly as possible, his own words ; but I 
don’t know exactly what he means. The strangest part of it 
is, that he speaks in such an alarmed way on the subject, that 
one would fancy he was 'personally interested in it. You may 


JOB PECK’S HOLIDAY. 


117 


imagine that he was very much annoyed at such a moment, to 
receive your request for a thousand pounds, to be advanced 
directly ; and he tells me that he believes you to be seriously 
in debt. My dear, dear brother, what can you be doing ? Do 
you find all the pleasure you anticipated from ‘ seeing life V 
or was your sister’s interpretation of its meaning so ver^ far 
from the truth ? Don’t think that I am reproaching you — I 
have no right, and no desire to do so ; but God grant that my 
dear, noble-hearted brother, may not lose one particle of high 
principle, and generous, manly feeling ! You tell me nothing 
more of Miss Stanley ” 

“ Thank God, she hasn’t seen the papers !” thought Lorimer. 

“And I am so anxious to know more about her; you will 
easily guess why. We are living in our usual quiet, humdrum 
way, very anxious for a visit from you, when you can spare 
the time. Indeed, my dear Lorimer, I almost think it would 
be prudent of you to come down and see Mr. Bosher yourself ; 
he would, perhaps, be more communicative to you than to me. 
God bless you, 

“ Ever your attached sister.” 

“She’s right — I’ll go this very day. Job, my lad. I’m sorry 
to keep you at all, but just be good enough to put a few things 
into a small portmanteau for me — enough for a day or two. I 
am going down to my mother’s house. I shall not want you 
with me.” 

Job soon packed the small portmanteau ; his master be- 
stowed a sovereign on him, and Job started to enjoy his holi- 
day, though with a less light heart now, for Job was convinced 
that Lorimer had received bad news of some kind, and coupling 
that fact with the list of bills he had gone over two days before, 
J ob suspected that money matters troubled his master’s mind. 

Two hours later, Lorimer Littlegood was in the train start- 
ing for his old home. We shall not accompany him there, but 
follow our friend Job through his day’s holiday. 


118 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“Here’s a gentleman, please,’' cried little Peck number one, 
opening the door of his brother’s abode to him. 

Mrs. Peck rose from her chair where she was sitting, busilj 
engaged in^making children’s pinafores, and bobbed a curtsey. 
Job burst out laughing. 

“ Why, gracious me, it’s Job !” she cried, surprised and 
pleased, but a little bit vexed, too, at her wasted civility. 
“ Why, Job, you are are a gentleman ! I never !” 

“ I’ve got a holiday,” said Job ; “ and master’s given me a 
sovereign to spend, so I thought I’d come and ask you and the 
little ones to come and have a ride down to Greenwich with 
me, and then we could all go to Cremorne in the evening, and 
have tea and shrimps.’’ 

“ Oh, yes ; oh, yes ; we’ll go, Uncle Job !” cried little Pecks, 
numbers one, two and three. 

“ Nonsense, nonsense, my dears : hold your little tongues,” 
said Mrs. Peck, in a kind tone. “ I couldn’t go. Job, without 
your brother, and he won’t be home till evening, though it’s 
very kind of you, indeed, to ask us. Now don’t cry, dears, 
and Job will give you each a cake, I dare say. Excuse me. Job, 
but don’t you think Miss Sparks would like to go with you 
instead f’ 

And as Mrs. Peck said this, she looked very knowing, and 
Job colored and looked very foolish. 

“ You’d better go and ask her. Job,” continued Mrs. Peck, 
smiling. 

« I — I — I don’t like ” 

“ Don’t like her. Job !” exclaimed Mrs. Peck. 

“ I didn’t say that — indeed, I didn’t,” cried Job, hastily and 
indignantly. “ I meant I was afraid to ask her.” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! she’s a very nice girl. Job, but she’s 
not a bit too good for you. And now you’ve got a good situa- 
tion, and ought to be saving money, there’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t think that, some day or other, you may like to get 
married and settled.” 


JOB PECK’S HOLIDAY. HQ 

Job colored worse than ever, and felt as if he were doing 
something dreadful. 

“ Some day,” continued Mrs. Peck, who, like every good- 
hearted woman, was fond of marrying and settling people — 
“ some day, perhaps your master will give you an eating- 
house, or something of that sort, to retire on, and make you a 
respectable family man. I don’t believe that wicked Mr. Wea- 
zel, who says Mr. Littlegood will be in prison before long. 
He’s a dangerous, bad man, that Weazel.” 

Job was struck with Mrs. Peck’s words about his master, 
but he said nothing about them, determined to keep his own 
counsel. He took her advice, however, about Miss Sparks, and 
proceeded to call on that young lady forthwith. 

Miss Sparks was at home, and delighted to see Job, at 
whom she stared with “ all her eyes.” She had never seen 
him so good-looking or so well-dressed before. Miss Sparks 
made flowers — indeed, she was patronized by Mr. and Mrs. 
Crump, but being a ‘‘ very superior hand,” she was enabled to 
make a much better living than most of her calling. Miss 
Sparks was overjoyed at Job’s proposal, and consented to 
dress in her best, and start forthwith, for she was not in the 
slightest degree bashful in the presence of Job, whom she re- 
garded as a great amiable boy, though he was two years older 
than herself. She was a very pretty, coquettish, good little 
girl ; and if ever Job did get settled in an eating-house, as his 
sister-in-law suggested, he could scarcely select a better or 
more suitable partner for life than Fanny Sparks. 

We cannot accompany Job and his fair lady to Greenwich, 
for really everybody knows exactly what a visit to Greenwich 
is ; and if any one should be in such a lamentable state of igno- 
rance as not to know from personal experience, there have been 
funny writers enough to describe it, without our attempting to 
add to the dismal heap of forced facetiousness wasted on the 
subject. 

And so with the visit to Cremorne. Everybody, from Prince 


120 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


Albert downwards, has been there, including, we have no 
doubt, half the bench of bishops and the peeresses’ gallery. 
Indeed, we are not at all sure that we have not more than once 
seen dignitaries of the church doing the Varsoviana with duch 
esses on the dancing platform : if we are mistaken, the reader 
must not be angry with us for the error ; and any bishop or 
duchess who thinks proper may address us a letter of dis- 
claimer of being one of those alluded to, and we promise to 
print it next month. 

Job and his fair friend ate shrimps and drank tea ; saw the 
sights of the circus, and the ballet, and the fireworks, and the 
acrobats, and danced polkas and quadrilles, and then took to 
brandy-and-water and lobsters ; and finally departed about mid- 
night, very happy and slightly in love — at least, the lady slight- 
ly, and Job desperately. 

After seeing Miss Sparks safely to her domicile. Job valiant- 
ly hailed a Hansom, and drove home to his master’s residence. 
Paying the cabman in the most approved style over the roof of 
the cab, he sprang to the ground, and was immediately tapped 
on the shoulder by one individual, while another insinuated an 
arm through his. 

“ Beg pardon — Mr. Littlegood, I think,” said one. 

“ I’m not,” cried Job. 

“ All right — we know all about that, sir ; in course you’re 
nof, but you’ll excuse us for considering you are,” and the fel- 
low gave a knowing wink. 

“ It’s only a case of four hundred and fifty— warrant of at- 
torney given to Joseph Myers, Esq., jeweller. You must come 
along with us, sir, if you please.” 

“ But I tell you,” Job began, and then he suddenly checked 
himself. It immediately occurred to him that the men were 
sheriff’s officers, who were arresting him in mistake for his mas- 
ter. Perhaps, if he allowed the mistake to continue, it might 
have the effect of saving his master altogether ; at all events, 
he would try it. So Job held his tongue. Job had not been 


JOB PECK’S HOLIDAY. 121 

brought up among grooms and jockeys for nothing : he was ah 
most as sharp as he was perfectly innocent. 

“ It’s all right, governor,” said one of the officers. “We’d 
better get a cab, perhaps, as it’s a good step to Cursitor Street. 
I suppose you’ll go there 1” 

Job nodded assent. 

A cab was soon procured, and the three entered it. 

“ You see the plaintiff saw all that police case, and he heard 
the captain had bolted, and that you’d be let in for the thou- 
sand. So he just thought he’d better make sure of his own lit- 
tle debt — he signs judgment, gives us the warrant, and here you 
are.” 

Job only nodded. He considered it best to hold his tongue 
as much as possible. 

Reaching Cursitor Street, the door of the renowned lock-up- 
house was opened, and Job Peck admitted within its hospitable 
portals. 

“ A reg’lar swell,” whispered the officer wffio had taken him ; 
“lots of tin.” 

“A private room, sir, I suppose,” said the doorkeeper on this 
hint. 

“ Yes,” said Job. 

And J ob was shown up-siairs, and passed that night under 
the roof of Mr. Slowman. 


122 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. JOB PECK AND HIS MASTER. 

Mr. Job Peck was perfectly easy in his mind as far as he 
WHS personally concerned. Indeed, he rather liked being 
locked up ; first, for the satisfaction of being taken for a gentle- 
man, and, secondly, for the fun of seeing how the Philistines 
would look when they found they had got the wrong man. 
Feeling it incumbent on him to support the character of a 
gentleman and a man of fashion to the utmost of his ability, 
he cried, “ Come in !” in the most independent style, when 
the servant at the sponging-house knocked at his door next 
morning. 

“ What would you like for breakfast, sir ?” he was asked. 

“ Muffins, eggs, and bloaters,” said J ob, in an authoritative 
tone ; “ and, I say, take care how you make the coffee, for I’m 
c/ayvilish partickler.” 

“ Yes, sir ; and would you like the loan of a razor 

“ Yees,” drawled Job, “ if you’ve one that isn’t a sav/.” 

“I’ll get you a good un, sir; lor’ bless ye, you can have 
hany think here for money.” 

“Holloa, waiter,” cried Job, “the ‘Post,’ if you please.” 

“ The post, sir? letters do you mean, sir?” 

“ The ‘ Morning Post I always read it at breakfast.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” and the waiter, who expected a tremen- 
dous “ tip” from the “swell,” left the room. 

“ Blest if this aint fun,” said Job to himself ; “ lor’, it’s easy 
enough to do the gentleman if you’ve only the pluck. I don’t 
think I could do master so well as I could Mr. Lavers, ’cause 


FURTHER ADVENTURES. 


123 


xnastei don’t swagger and bully — he is so quiet like ; and yet 
he is a gentleman, every inch of him. I’m precious glad they 
aint got Aim.” 

Job soon completed his toilet (he had taken good care to 
hide the top-boots during the night), and entered the private 
sitting-room, where breakfast awaited him, and where he was 
soon destined to receive a visitor. 

Mr. Joseph Myers had passed a far less comfortable night - 
than his imaginary debtor ; not from any compassion he might 
be supposed to feel for the latter, but from some inexplicable 
presentiment that existed in his mind of his not having pursued 
the wisest course in the world in reference to the arrest. It 
was satisfactory to know that he had him under lock and key 
(for, be it observed, that Mr. Myers had himself pointed out 
Job for Lorimer the night before, so that the mistake had been 
his own), and yet he began to doubt the wisdom of the step 
he had taken. 

After a little consideration,' he determined to call on his vic- 
tim, try to mollify his wrath, and find out the exact state of 
his affairs. If they should prove to be “ all right ” after all, 
he promised himself the satisfaction of making matters smooth 
again, and seducing Mr. Lorimer Littlegood a little further 
into his clutches. 

After a good breakfast and an elaborate toilet (for, like most 
of his persuasion,” Mr. Myers was great in the article of 
jewellery), he took a cab, and drove to Slowman’s. 

“ Ha ! how are you said the doorkeeper, when he recog- 
nized Mr. Myers’s well-known face. 

“ How d’ye do,” replied Mr. Myers ; “ well, so you’ve got 
my young swell here, have you f ’ 

“ Safe enough. Do you want to see him ? I don’t think 
he’s up yet. Shall I go and see ?” 

‘‘ Do, please.” 

The doorkeeper went up to Job’s private room, and return- 


124 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


ed in a minute with the information that Mr. Littlegood was 
up and dressed, and would be happy to see Mr. Myers. 

“ I say,” whispered Myers, “ come with me just inside the 
room till we see how he looks ; because you see these young 
swells are so violent sometimes, and ” 

“ And you was once pumped on in the Bench, when you 
went to see one of ’em, eh ?” said the other, with a grin. 

“ Come, like a good fellow,” said Myers, not pretending to 
notice the last part of the speaker’s remarks. 

“ All right,” answered the other ; and together they went up 
stairs, and knocked at the door. 

“ Come in,” cried Job, and they entered. 

“ Holloa !” exclaimed Myers, staggering back, and turning 
as white as a sheet, or, rather, as yellow as a Chinese. 

“ What’s the matter 1” asked the doorkeeper. 

“ That — aint — him,” gasped Myers. 

“ Aint who ?” asked the other. 

“ Mr. Littlegood ; youVe got — the wrong man — oh, my — !” 

“ Ha, ha, ha !” guffawed the doorkeeper, who was extremely 
amused. 

“ Ha, ha, ha!” chimed in Job, who was just as much pleased. 

I told ’em so, but they wouldn’t believe me.” 

“ Why, it’s his groom,” said Myers. 

“ Ha, ha !” laughed the doorkeeper. 

“ Where’s your master 1” cried Myers. 

“ You’d better find out for yourself,” said Job, laughing, ‘‘ or 
stay, I don’t mind giving you the address if you’ll make it 
worth my while,’’ and Job looked knowing. 

“ ril give you a fiver — there,” said Myers, “ you’re a sensi- 
ble lad.” 

“ Here’s the address,” said Job ; and he handed Mr. Myers 
a piece of paper, on which he had written ‘‘ Afrikey 1” 

“ How dare you play tricks with me, you young rascal 
cried Myers in a rage. 

“No, I ain’t a rascal,” answered Job, “ but that’s what you’d 


FURTHER ADVENTURES. 125 

like to make me. Do you think Fm going to be bribed to get 
my master into trouble, you old J ew cheat F’ 

“ You shall suffer for this,” cried Myers. 

“ You shall,” answered Job, “for locking me up; I know 
it’s false imprisonment, and some one’ll have to pay me hand- 
some for it, that’s all.” 

Myers looked at the doorkeeper, and the doorkeeper looked 
at Myers. 

“ He’^a kno winger card than you thought for,” whispered 
the former. 

D him,” growled Myers. 

“ I say, young feller,” suggested the doorkeeper addressing 
Job, “ don’t you think you’d better accept the fiver that Mr. 
Myers was going to give you for the address, and say no more 
about the arrest F’ 

Job made no reply. 

“ Well, I don’t mind giving it to you,” said Myers, “ is it a 
bargain F’ 

“Very well,” answered Job, taking the money, “and now 
I suppose I may go ?” 

“ All right,” said the doorkeeper. 

“ I say, my good lad, don’t you think you may as well give 
me the address and pocket another of those fivers — or, say two 
more — come !” said Myers insinuatingly. 

“ If you try on that game with me I’ll just punch your head 
— so that’s all about it,” answered Job, and he walked away 
indignantly. 

When Job reached his master’s lodgings, he took off his 
holiday clothes, and donned his ordinary livery attire, and he 
sat down to discuss, in such brains as he had, what he should 
do next. After a little reflection, it appeared to him that the 
safest thing would be to go down to his master in the country ; 
for although Lorimer had not told him where he was going. 
Job had no doubt but it was to his mother’s house. 

He, therefore, walked forth, and only strolled about the 


126 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


streets for some time to observe if any one were following ; for 
Job, as we remarked, had not lived all his life among grooms 
and jookeys for nothing ; he was as ’cute as a Yankee Jew of 
Scotch descent, which, we believe, is considered the very 
“ smartest ” breed in the world. Being satisfied that no one 
Avas remarking him, he got into an omnibus and drove to the 
station, took a ticket for Muddleford, and soon reached that 
remarkable place. 

At Verbena Cottage, Job met his master in the garde^i, stroll- 
with his mother and sister. 

“ What, Job ! why, what brings you here?” exclaimed Lori- 
mer in surprise. 

“ Beg pardon, sir, but I think I’d better speak to you alone, 
sir ; though it’s nothing pertickler, sir,” he added as he saw 
Mrs. Littlegood looking dreadfully alarmed, 

“ Oh yes it is ! it’s something dreadful, I’m sure of it,” said 
the anxious mother. 

“ My dear mamma, it can’t be anything very bad,” said 
Jessie, “since we are all three here, and in good health.” 

“ Oh ! my poor nerves !” cried Mrs. Littlegood. 

“Come, dear,” said Jessie, gently, and leading her away, 
while she glanced half inquiringly and half sorrowfully at Lori- 
mer. 

“Now, then. Job, what is it?” asked Lorimer, as soon as 
they were alone. 

Job related his late adventure. 

“ Confound the fellow ! I’ll go up to London and horsewhip 
him,” cried Lorimer. 

“ Beg pardon, sir,” suggested Job, “ but I think you’d better 
take the money with you, sir ; or else, sir, I’m afeard they’ll 
serve you as they did me — and they’re uncommon dirty quar- 
ters, sir, in Cursed Street.” 

Lorimer burst out laughing. 

“ You’re a sensible fellow. Job, and you give me very good 


FUKTIIEK ADVENTURES. 127 

advice. You’ve really acted your part in this affair very clev- 
erly, and I promise you Til not forget it.” 

Job felt highly delighted, and thought he would like to be 
arrested every day to get the same praise. 

“ I must be off to Bosher,” said Lorimer, “ this is getting 
serious. Job, just tell my mother and sister that I shall be 
back in half an hour,” and so saying, he hastened out of the 
garden to the attorney’s house. 

When Bosher heard Lorimer’s account of Job Peck’s arrest, 
he was not in the least degree astonished ; he was simply sur- 
prised that Lorimer himself had not been arrested long ago. 

You know the state of affairs as regards your property, 
Mr. L ttlegood,” remarked the lawyer. 

“ 1 wish to heaven 1 did,” said Lorimer, impatiently : “ but 
1 assure you, I know nothing of the kind ; you tell me that this 
story about my grandfather having become improperly possessed 
of the estate is all trumped up, and yet you add that there is 
danger. You advise me not to raise any more money, and yet 
you say my title is good. In fact you act just as if you were 
personally and not merely professionally concerned.” 

Mr. Bosher here took a sharp glance at Lorimer, and made 
a slight approach to blush ; but it was gone in a moment, and, 
without answering Lorimer’s remark, he' said : 

“ Do you know the exact amount of your debts 1” 

“ I do,” said Lorimer ; “ they are £2,586 7s. 9.” 

“And you want to pay them asked the attorney, talking 
as if he were merely gaining time for reflection. 

“ I must and will,” said Lorimer. “ Pardon me, Mr. Bosher, 
I don’t wish to offend you, but if you cannot raise me this 
money at once, I shall apply this very day to another solicitor 
— of course you will give me my title deeds.” 

Bosher evidently did not like this suggestion. 

“ You shall have the money,” said he. 

“ I must have exactly £100 beyond that sum,” said Lorimer, 
“ and 1 must have it at once,'''* 


128 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


“ I will bring it to you this afternoon,” said Bosher. 

‘‘ Thank you,” replied Lorimer ; and he returned to his 
mother’s cottage. 

It gave him some trouble and forced him to some dissimu- 
lation to tranquilize the mind of his mother, who seemed de- 
termined to believe that some calamity had befallen him. After 
a conversation with his sister, it was decided that unless ac- 
tual hostilities were commenced in reference to the property, 
it would be unnecessary to give the good lady any information 
on the subject. 

With Jessie he entered fully on the theme. 

‘‘ You seem to have no fear that these people’s claims may 
be well founded, Lorimer ?” remarked his sister. 

“None at all. Bosher assures me that it’s all nonsense, and 
people are constantly playing such tricks — in fact, that some 
of the first estates in England are claimed by adventurers 
and people who have no real title to them, but hope to be 
bought off, as it’s disagreeable to go to law at all times, and 
especially with men of straw, as he calls them.” 

“That seems reasonable enough,” answered Jessie; “but 
if Mr. Bosher so despises these people’s pretensions, why does 
he warn you that you may soon have no property at all ? 
Why does he almost refuse to raise money on it 

“ Perhaps that is only meant for kindness,” suggested Lori- 
mer — “to prevent me from extravagance.” 

“ If I thought so,” replied Jessie, “ I should indeed respect 
him ; but really, my dear brother, I cannot believe it. 1 am al- 
most ashamed of my suspicions, but there has always been 
something about that man’s manner that has made me distrust 
him, or at least has prevented me from feeling that entire con- 
fidence in him that I knew I ought otherwise to have in so old 
a fi icnd of our family.” 

“ Ah, you women who have nothing to do but to sit at 
home and think — you form such strange notions of men and 


FURTHER ADVENTURES. 129 

things, and take such odd fancies into you little heads/’ said 
Lorimer, laughing and kissing his sister. 

“ Were my fancies about ‘ seeing life’ so very far from the 
truth, dear ?” asked she, smiling. 

“ Ahem !” said Lorimer : “ you have me there, I’m afraid. 
And yet, Jessie dear, I have not been so very dissipated as you 
may imagine.” 

“ I never did imagine, my dear brother, that you would be 
guilty of low or mean vices — your good taste and your high 
principle would surely protect you from either. But is there 
not a goodly — no, an evil — catalogue of what are. charitably 
called ‘follies,’ which are but a few steps removed from gross- 
er vices, and, perhaps, not intrinsically less evil than they 

“ Perhaps so, my dear little metaphysician,” said her brother. 

“Don’t call me that — anything but that,” cried Jessie. 
“ Why, you doom me irretrievably to be an old maid if you 
prove me to deserve that character.” 

“ And are you very much afraid of being an old maid asked 
Lorimer, laughing. 

“ Horribly,” answered Jessie. 

“ And is there any one 

“ No, certainly not, sir. Talk of women being inquisitive !” 

“ God bless you, Jessie !” cried Lorimer, kissing the laugh- 
ing, blushing girl. “ By Jove, you should have a good bus- 
band if I chose for you ! I’m afraid I don’t know one worthy 
of you.’’ 

“ Not one among your friends like my own dear brother 
asked Jessie, smiling. 

“ If there should be he would not be good enough for my 
dear sister,” returned Lorimer. “Jessie, I am going to Lon. 
don early to-morrow morning.” 

“ Why so soon 

“ To pay my debts and reforni,” answered Lorimer. 

“ Really reform ?” asked Jessie, with a smile, “ or only fancy 
so for a little while 


130 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


‘‘Really — seriously,” answered Lorimer. “ Indeed, Jessie, 
I have seen enough of life in one of its phases ; but I hope to 
see it in better ones. Something tells me that I may have to 
view it from a very different point of view from the present. 
What if we were to lose all our property 

Both were silent for a moment. 

“ I will tell you, Lorimer,” said Jessie, wdth a flushed cheek 
and an earnest voice : “ you would shrink from the battle of 
life at first ; then you would plunge bravely, perhaps too rash- 
ly, into it ; in the end, you would conquer and be a noble, if 
not a great character.” 

Thanks, Jessie, dear ; — and you 

“ I do not know ; but I have no fear,” she said without any 
of her former enthusiasm, but with perfect calmness. “ I fancy 
that I was not meant for still life ; but whatever lot mine may 
be, God’s will be done !” 

She bowed her head as she said this, and there was a pro- 
phetic mournfulness in her tone that struck on Lorimer’s heart 
more keenly than he could have believed. 

“ Amen !’^ he said. “ And now, good night, dear sister.” 


HOLDS A LEVEE. 


131 


CHAPTER XVII. 

LORIMER HOLDS A LEVEE AND MAKES A SPEECH. " 

The morning after Lorimer’s arrival in town his ante-room 
presented a curious spectacle. He had employed the whole of 
the previous afternoon in writing letters to each of his creditors 
requesting one and all of them (with the exception of Mr. 
Myers, whom he prudently paid at once), to be at his rooms at 
eleven o’clock the next day. Accordingly, at that hour, a 
motley group assembled. There were tailors, hosiers, hatters, 
bootmakers, jewellers, perfumers, horse-dealers, coachbuilders, 
&:c. &;c. These worthy gentlemen stared at one another in sur- 
prise, as Job Peck ushered one after the other into the ante- 
room, saying to each : — 

“ Take a seat please ; master ’ll come to you directly.” 

Each one did as he was bidden, but was evidently puzzled to 
know what it all meant. Mr. Snips, the tailor, happened to 
know Mr. Stumps, the bootmaker ; and Mr. Tile, the hatter, 
had a slight acquaintance with Mr. Civet, the perfumer. And 
so they began to ask one another, confidentially and in whispers, 
what they thought of the matter, and what could be the peculiar 
reason for their being all there, summoned at the same moment. 

“ Looks queer, I think,” said Stumps. 

1 “ Don’t like the cut of it at all,” responded Snips. 

“ What can be in his ’ead ?” asked Tile. 

“ I’m afraid I smell a rat,” answered Civet. 

“ What?” 

“ Looks like a meetin’ of creditors,” replied Civet. 

“ No doubt about that,” said Tile ; ‘‘but what’s it for?” 


132 


LORIMER LITTLEQOOD. 


“ Composition, Fm afraid.” 

“ Oh, lor’, you don’t think so, do you answered Tile. 

At last the conversation began to get general, though carried 
on in whispers. Slight hints were dropped of want of confidence 
in Mr. Lorimer Littlegood, and insinuations against his charac- 
ter cautiously thrown in. 

1 thought he’d go to the dogs,” observed Curb, the horse- 
dealer, to Spokes, the carriage builder ; — “ I thought he’d go to 
the dogs when I saw those jewellers and chaps about him.” 

They’re a bad lot,” responded Spokes, “ it’s astonishing the 
number of young chaps they’ve led to ruin.” 

“ As soon as 1 heard he’d got into the hands of those cursed 
horse-jockeys,” remarked Filagree, the jeweller, “ I was afraid 
it was all up with him.” 

“No young man can stand their tricks long,” replied Lawn, 
the hosier, as both glanced distrustfully towards the two former 
speakers. 

The door of the room now opened and in walked Mr. Lori- 
mer Littlegood, who was greeted with profound bows from all 
present. 

“Pray take your seats, gentlemen; Job, give me a chair,” 
said Lorimer, looking grave, though a very keen observer 
might have observed a slight twinkle in the eye, and a repress- 
ed attempt of the mouth to curl at the corners, which indicated 
a desire to laugh or the anticipation of sport. 

“ Gentlemen, I believe I see before me all my creditors,” be- 
gan Lorimer. “ 1 am happy that you are not more numerous, 
both for my sake and your own.” 

Credit »rs felt queer, and began to look at one another. 

“ Gentlemen, I have been very extravagant,” continued Lori- 
mer — “ absurdly so ; the fault has been, partly my own and 
party yours.” 

Creditors look deprecatingly. Each creditor considers him- 
self an exception. 

“The sum total of my debts, 1 find, is £2,580 7s. 9d. Now, 
gentlemen, can you inform me how 1 am to pay this amount.” 


HOLDS A LEVEE. 


133 


Creditors look horribly puzzled, and cannot quite make out 
whether Mr. Littlegood is joking with them or not. No one 
likes to speak lest he should make a mistake. 

‘‘The question is, gentlemen, as I have always found you 
most civil, obliging, and accommodating ; as you have one and 
all repeatedly assured me that I need not at all trouble myseL 
about payment ; that you were most anxious to oblige me in any 
way, and so forth, and that you felt honored by my custom, — 
the question, I say is, gentlemen, how much time will you grant 
me.” i 

Dismay sat on the countenances of the creditors ! Time ! 
Perhaps he only wanted time to run away ! Silence prevailed 
for a second or two. At length Mr. Snips, the richest man, 
and hitherto the most obsequious of all remarked : 

“ That he should have been very happy indeed, to have grant- 
ed time, but really he had so many pressing calls at the mo- 
ment, and one or two very heavy bills to provide for, that he 
positively could not grant any time at all — he mmt be paid 
immediately^'^ 

Forthwith, all the other creditors made remarks to the same 
effect; there was not one who had not a very heavy bill to pro- 
vide for that very week, and must have his money. 

“Very well, gentlemen,” said Lorimer ; “but supposing I 
have not got the money to pay you in full % What do you say 
to a composition 

Creditors now all looked indignant. Mr. Filagree remarked 
that he made it a rule never to compromise a debt : he might 
lose it altogether, but he would not compromise it. 

Hereupon every creditor also declared that he made it an 
invariable rule never to compromise, and each one tried to look 
as stern as Brutus, though he had never heard of that same 
Roman patriot. 

Encouraged by this unanimity, Mr. Tile ventured to ob- 
serve, that he must say, he thought it a very “ hodd proceed- 
ing altogether — he couldn’t say he thought it very creditable 


134 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


either. Young men had no business to go and get goods they 
couldn’t pay for. If it wasn’t dishonest it wasn’t far off, in 
his opinion.” 

Mr. Snips perfectly agreed, and every other creditor agreed 
also, and little whisperings of “ regular do,” and such like 
phrases, passed freely about between them. 

“ Then I’m to understand, gentlemen, that you won’t grant 
time, and you won’t accept a compromise asked Lorimer. 

All nodded assent. 

“And, further, you consider that I’ve behaved* very badly, 
and that you are all victims much to be pitied 

Here each creditor detailed his own grievances, and consid- 
ered that he^ in particular, had been grieviously ill-used. 

“Thank you,” said Lorimer, when he had heard them all. 
“Now allow me tell you my opinion of you, I consider you 
a set of mean, paltry, cringing, cowardly, dishonest scamps. 
Don’t stir !” he shouted, fiercely, as one or two began to move, 
“ or if you do, by Jove, I’ll let my bull-dogs into the room, 
and you’ll find their teeth worse than my tongue ! You shall 
hear what 1 have to say. I have told you my opinion in gen 
eral terms — you shall have it more explicitly. Your system 
is this : you find some young man whom you think to be rich ; 
you fasten on him ; you tease him for orders ; you tempt him 
with your wares; you don’t wait for him to want what you 
have to sell, but you force upon him things that you know he 
can never require ; you seduce him by expatiating on the 
beauty, or the rarity, or the fashion of what you offer; you 
assure him that any time will do for payment, that that is the 
last thought that need trouble his head ; you even leave go«'ds 
with him for approval, in the hope that some of his friends 
may praise them enough to make him purchase them. You 
do all this so long as you feel perfectly sure of his means, you 
don’t care a fig for the fact that you are tempting him to spend 
his money improperly ; you charge him double the real value 
of everything you sell him, and at the very first glimpse ol 


AND MAKES A SPEECH. 


185 


anything wrong as regards his pocket, you pounce down upon 
him — a set of vile harpies ; you will pursue him not only to 
the last shilling of his means, but to imprisonment and, if you 
could, to death itself. If you are not ashamed of yourselves, 
it is because ‘ damned custom ’ has changed you from honest 
tradesmen (if such you ever were) to a set of thieves. Sit 
still, I say ! Your victims are weak-minded fools, such as I 
have been, who deserve some punishment for their folly ; but 
not half as much as you deserve who have not the same ex- 
cuses. You are a set of pests to society, you respectable west- 
end tradesmen, and if you occasionally get bitten, it serves you 
right, or rather it gives you only a very small portion of the 
penalty you ought to pay for you meanness and utter want of 
conscientiousness.” 

After this very magniloquent speech, which Lorimer deliv- 
ered with immense energy, he sat still and surveyed the indig- 
nant and yet half- frightened visages of the assembled creditors. 
The whole scene, and his own part in it, were at last too much 
for his gravity ; and, to the intense surprise of every one, he 
burst out into a hearty fit of laughter. 

“ There’s not such a thing as a bull-dog on the premises,” he 
said, recovering himself; and it is surprising how compara- 
tively comfortable every creditor’s calves felt on hearing this 
assurance, and how much his courage began to rise. The men 
themselves began to rise also. 

“ Stay !” cried Lorimer : “ have you got your receipts with 
you !” 

Amazement sat on all — what could he mean ? 

“ Have you got your receipts with you 1” repeated Lorimer, 
“ because I am going to pay you all.” 

The surprise was indescribable ! Every one had got his re- 
ceipt with him ; and Lorimer, in the most methodical and 
business-like way, paid each one in full. 

Hereupon Mr. Snips, the tailor, thought it better to remark^ 
that as far as paying went, ^^Ir. Littlegood had behaved like a 


136 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


gentleman, and as far as his remarks were concerned, he had no 
doubt that Mr. Littlegood was only having his joke. 

Nothing of the sort,” cried Lorimer, who was just pass- 
ing out of the room into the inner one. “I meant every word 
1 said, and a great deal more. Gentlemen, I wish you all at 
the devil !” and he slammed the door behind him. 

Creditors’ faces very red ; but intense satisfaction at pocket- 
ing the money. 

“Move, please,” said Job, who began sweeping the carpet 
with all his might, and raising a terrible dust. 

Creditors hustled one another out of the room, and not one 
was ever again destined to darken the threshold of Mr. Lori- 
mer Littlegood. 


BENNOCH V. LITTLEGOOD. 


137 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

BENNOCH V. LITTLEGOOD AND ANOTHER. 

It is not pleasant to be baffled in any undertaking. All naen 
feel this, and not men alone : see an old hound at fault, and 
watch with what redoubled energy he dashes eagerly in every 
direction to strike upon the scent again — you would find it even 
more difflcult to call him off then than when in full cry — he 
does not like to be baffled. 

Such was the case with Mr. Weazel : he had met with two 
very unpleasant obstacles in pursuing his scheme : he could 
not get proof of the marriage of Bennoch, senior, nor could he 
procure the aid of the present Bill Bennoch in the matter. 
Ever since his interview with that amiable individual, which 
ended in the lattePs being carried home drunk, Mr. Bennoch 
had been confined to his house by a severe indisposition — to 
work. 

His wife kept watch over him like a dragon ; not from af- 
fection, but to prevent people getting to him who might supply 
him with fresh drink or means of procuring it. 

On one occasion when Weazel ventured into the court, and 
up to the door of the house in which the Bennochs lived, the 
virago fulfilled her promise to the little man by throwing a 
tub of soap-suds over him. He decamped amid the jeers and 
cheers of fifty small boys, cursing everything and everybody; and 
when he reached home. Peg Todd thought he had been attempt- 
ing to drown himself, and was very sorry that he had not suc- 
ceeded. 

At length it struck him as possible that if he could induce 


138 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


Rose Bennoch to take his part, she might be able to persuade 
her mother to admit him to a quiet interview without fear of 
washing-tubs. And so he paid another visit to Mr. and Mrs. 
Crump’s establishment, and teased poor little Rose into send- 
ing a letter to her mother, recommending Mr. Weazel as a 
kind and good man and one who had most important secrets 
to tell her. We may here observe that Rose was obliged to 
procure the assistance of one of her fellow prisoners to write 
the letter, not yet being able to handle the pen very effectively 
herself, though she had daily lessons in reading and writing at 
Lorimer’s express stipulation, and paid for by him. 

Mrs. Bennoch received the letter with delight as coming 
from poor little Rose, though she was not so much pleased at 
the recommendation of Mr. Weazel, whom she looked upon 
as a sneak and a coward. The day after the letter arrived, 
W eazel ventured to present himself again at the door. 

“ Come in,” cried Mrs. Bennoch, with a very ill grace, hav- 
ing seen who was the visitor. 

Weazel entered, bowing to her with as much politeness as 
if she were a duchess, and assuming his unpleasant grin. 

“ You’d better sit down — what have you got to say ?” asked 
the woman. 

My dear ma’am, I’ve come to apprize you that your hus- 
band is entitled to a very large and handsome property,” said 
Weazel. 

“ I don’t believe a word of it,” replied Mrs. Bennoch — “ not 
a word ; you look like a rogue, and it’s my belief you are one.” 

Weazel turned very red, and felt slightly disconcerted: it 
was not pleasant to have his character so plainly written in his 
face that any washerwoman could read it. 

“ Excuse me,” said he, “ but you are naturally angry about 
that unfortunate occurrence with him,’’ pointing to Bennoch, 
who was snoring on the bed, “ but, I assure you, it was not 
my fault. I wanted to talk to him about this very matter, and 
he would not listen to me till I gave him some drink, and to 


BENNOCE V. LITTLEGOOD. 


139 


my great surprise, he swallowed it all, and became unable to 
understand what I was saying.” 

“ 1 see, you’ve got the gift of the gab — go on,” muttered the 
woman, sulkily. 

“ 1 won’t bother you with a long story ; it is sufficient to say 
that 1 possess most undoubted proofs. of your husband’s father 
having been defrauded of all his property, which ought now to 
belong to his son.” 

‘‘ And who has got the property she asked. 

“Mr. Littlegood,” replied Weazel. 

“ Mr. who !” 

“Mr. Lorimer Littlegood,” answered Weazel. 

“ What ! he that’s taken care of Rose 

“ The same.” 

“ Then let him keep it : he’s the best man in the world, and 
I would n’t injure him for the finest fortune in it,” she exclaim- 
ed. 

“That’s a very noble feeling of yours,” answered Weazel, 
who thought it in reality a most absurd one ; “ but, you see, 
my dear ma’am, justice is justice. If the property is your 
husband’s, why should Mr. Littlegood possess itT’ 

“ I don’t believe that it is my husband’s,” she cried. 

“I tell you 1 can prove it,” answered Weazel. “ Now just 
think how pleasant it would be to have a fine fortune and live 
as a lady, instead of being constantly at work and in poverty.” 

“ I’m used to both,” she replied. 

“ Think of your son — heir to a good estate, instead of run- 
ning about the streets.” 

“ Mr. Littlegood’s promised to get him into a good school — 
he’ll do well enough,” said she. 

“Weil, then, think of your beautiful daughter — a lady — a 
lady of good fortune, riding in her carriage amongst the great- 
est in the land, and more admired for her beauty than, perhaps 
any one of them !” 

Weazel paused : he saw that this shot had taken effect : the 


140 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


poor mother, who had no ambition for herself, could not re- 
strain her aspirations for her daughter — her sweet, dear, beau- 
tiful Rose. 

“ Fancy the temptations she will be exposed to in her pre- 
sent mode of life — how can you be sure she may not be led 
astray by some ” 

^ “ You liar !” cried the woman, with fearful vehemence : “ she 
will never go astray : she will never do wrong — God bless her 
— my own poor little Rose !” And she burst into a flood of 
tears, while her whole frame shook with the violence of her 
passion. 

Weazel was frightened and at fault. He could not under- 
stand this intensity of maternal love, especially in one so appa- 
rently callous as the woman before him. He sat silent, not 
knowing what to say. 

“ Go away,” she cried, but not with violence — rather as if 
shrinking from a temptation she feared ; “ go away — we don’t 
want riches.” 

“ Will she never reproach you for being the means of de- 
priving her of the station and property she ought to have pos- 
sessed ?” suggested the cunning little man. 

“No — never,” cried the mother: “ she would reproach no 
one for acting honestly, and, least of all, for refusing to rob the 
kind gentleman that’s been her preserver. Go away, I tell 
you — I hate the sight of you : — go away !” 

She uttered this last warning with such fierce energy that 
Weazel thought it best to take the hint and decamp, lest the 
next one should be the practical one of soap-suds. 

Baffled again ! How the little schemer chafed ! 

“ The fools !” he said : “ they don’t deserve a sixpence of the 
property : a drunken beast of a man and a she-devil of a wo- 
man. But it’s clear I must get it for them, or how can I line 
my own pockets ? Come what may, they shall have the prop- 
erty.” And he struck his table savagely as he said it. 

After this, Mr. Weazel might be observed to take several 


BENNOCH V. LITTLEGOOD. 


141 


short trips into a remote part of the country, and to come back 
looking very weary and more thin and nervous than ever. Peg 
Todd, who was eternally packing a diminutive carpet-bag for 
him, wondei'ed what had come over her master, and how he 
could possibly have grown so extravagant as to be constantly 
gadding about the country. It was a fine time for her, as she 
could safely slip out and amuse herself for an hour or two, 
though she one day stayed away a little too long, as Weazel 
returned home in her absence, and when she came. back, he 
almost broke her neck, besides stopping her small allowance 
of food for a day. Peg philosophically regarded this as merely 
one of the necessary penalties for her pleasure, but was quite 
determined to incur the risk of a similar punishment on the 
very first opportunity. 

About this time, Lorimer Littlegood received a letter from 
Mr. Bosher in these terms: — 

“ My dear Sir, 

‘ The parties w^ho threatened proceedings in regard to your 
property have this day actually commenced them. 'We shall, 
of course, take all proper steps for the defence : at the same 
time, 1 think it proper to warn you, that so great is the pro- 
verbial uncertainty of the law, that it is possible these people 
may succeed, in which case, you must prepare yourself for an 
entire loss of fortune. Certainly, a little portion of your late 
father’s property is not connected with the present proceedings ; 
but that would not produce more than sufficient to support your 
mother in the humblest manner.’’ 

“ What can the fellow mean ?” cried Lorimer. “Jessie was 
right : there is something very odd in all this. Bosher tells me 
that this claim is all nonsense, and yet I may lose all my prop- 
erty through it. Uncertainty of the law, indeed 1 it must be 
an odd state of things if any rogue, without a particle of justice 
on his side, can turn the rightful owner out of his property, 
ril go dow n and see Bosher at once.” 

10 


142 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


He did so ; but there was little enlightenment to be gained 
from the interview ; for Bosher so smothered all his explana- 
tions in professional technical isms that Lorimer could make 
nothing out of them. He asked to see the proceedings, and 
was handed some voluminous papers, which, on attempting to 
read, he found even more incomprehensible than his solicitor’s 
explanations. Only, one fact struck him — that the proceedings 
a[)pcared to be against Bosher as much as against himself. 
The attorney declared that that was a mere matter of form, but 
J-iorimer was hardly convinced, and went away from the office 
with an unpleasant suspicion that there was a most important 
screw loose somewhere. His discussion with Jessie, who was 
so clear-headed and quick of apprehension, only confirmed his 
feeling of distrust. 

Nor was he without great surprise at finding that the claim- 
ant of his estate was the father of the child he was befriending. 
He had never told Bosher of this last circumstance at all, but 
Jessie knew the whole history of it, and both agreed that it 
would be most wrong to endeavor to influence the father 
through Rose. 

“In truth, Lorimer, if this Mr. Bennoch is really the rightful 
heir to the property, he ought to have it.” 

“ Certainly, my dear sister ; and if I thought it belonged to 
him I would not detain it from him for a day. But Bosher 
assures me it is mine ; and what can I do?” 

“ We can but w ait,” said Jessie, “ till the trial shall have de- 
cided the question; and, meantime, be prepared for the worst.” 

Wcazel’s spirits, meantime, were vastly improving. He sat 
up all one night, with little strips of paper before him, having 
a few wmrds printed on them, and divided by lines into sepa- 
rate compartments. On these strips of paper he seemed to be 
exercising his handwriting ; for, after filling up words or names 
in them, he tore them up into small pieces, or burnt them. 

Peg Todd, who w^ondered what he was so busy about, crept 
out of her bed more than once to look at him through the key- 


BENNOCH V. LITTLEGOOD. 


148 


hole. At length she saw a look of wonderful satisfaction on his 
face, and his habitual grin becanae almost demoniacal as he 
folded up carefully one of the little strips of paper on which he 
had been writing. As he did so, he looked cautiously round 
the room as though the walls had eyes as well as ears ; and his 
ow^n eyes seemed to glare so on the door that Peg almost fan- 
cied he had seen her through the keyhole. Then he took all 
his papers carefully from the table, and came towards the door 
to go to bed, while Peg slipped hurriedly and noiselessly into 
her back kitchen, and into bed, and lay as though sound asleep. 
After looking at her, Weazel ascended the stairs, and went to 
his sleeping-room. Again Peg slipped out of bed, and into the 
front kitchen, where Weazel had been sitting ; there was just 
light enough from the expiring fire to enable her to see some* 
thing white lying on the floor. It was one of the little printed 
slips of paper which W eazel had evidently let fall by accident ; 
but there was no writing on it. Curiosity made the girl pick 
it up, and a love of secrecy and indefinable cunning induced her 
to fold it up and hide it in her clothes, as though it were a 
prize. 

Next day Weazel again started off to a large country town, 
and searched the register in presence of the parish clerk. 

“It’s very odd,” said Weazel; “I can’t find the certificate 
of which this which 1 have is a copy — there’s no such page as 
289 in the book that I can see.” 

“ No more there is !” cried the clerk, in surprise ; “ it is 
odd ; there’s been some roguery here. Let me look at your 
copy — that’s right enough, surely. William Bennoch— Matilda 
May — Robert Jennings, Curate — it’s all right, I’m sure. Of 
course Mr. Jennings was long before my time, but I know 
that’s his signature ; look, here it is — and here — and here. But 
what can have become of page 289 ? It’s been stolen — that’s 
clear.” 

“ Bless me !” cried Weazel, “ what shall I do ? it’s most im 
portant to prove this marriage ; and suppose it’s disputed 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


144 

V “ But that certified copy of yours is as good as the original,” 
said the clerk, “ and I can easily get people who can prove 
that that's Mr. Jennings’s signature.” 

“ Can you ?” cried W eazel ; “ then that’ll do.” And he cared 
nothing for the clerk’s lamentations about page 289, which might 
contain certificates of which there were no copies in existence. 

A law-suit is a terrible affair to hear of or read of Certain 
we are that our readers would not thank us for a detail of the 
case of Bennoch v, Littlegood and another. They are interest- 
ed (if interested at all) only in the result of it, which was, that 
Mr. William Bennoch was declared rightful owner of the estate, 
formerly the property of his father, and that Lorimer Little- 
good was left a beggar. 

Another result was, that to the astonishment of all Muddle- 
ford and half the County of Surrey, Mr. Bosher, the paragon 
of attorneys, was nowhere to be found ! 


ANOTHER RUNAWAY. 


145 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ANOTHER RUNAWAY. 

Mr. Bosher was not the only one of our dramatis jpersonm 
who mysteriously disappeared at the moment when the ver- 
dict was given in the great case of Bennoch v. Littlegood. Peg 
Todd was also found absent without leave, though, certainly,' 
Peg was not flying from her creditors, for it is doubtful 
whether she could have procured credit for a penny loaf, nor 
was she running away in consequence of any little rogueries 
committed by her. Nevertheless, Mr. Weazel, all elated as 
he was at his grand success, was vexed to a degree that sur- 
prised himself, when he discovered the ^ht of his little hand- 
maiden. He first made a complete seaffn through the house, 
to ascertain that Peg was not hidden in any mysterious corner 
or cupboard. He even shook his coats and trowsers, and 
peeped under the covers of the vegetable dishes, as if it were 
possible for Peg to be concealed in either. Having satisfied 
himself that she had really gone, his suspicions were next ex- 
cited lest she should have robbed him, and so he took another 
survey of all his goods and chattels, but found everything in 
its place. Indeed, it appeared certain that Peg had walked off 
with only the clothes she had on her back, and about half of a 
very stale loaf of bread. 

There was really no mystery in the matter, and though Mr. 
Weazel considered it a most extraordinary and unaccountable 
thing that the girl should leave his hospitable roof. Peg thought 
otherwise. Sick of ill-treatment, bad fare, worse clothes, and 
eternal taunts and threats, it occurred to the little creature to 


146 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


run away, without the least notion of whither she should go, or 
how she should exist on her way. She deliberated for a short 
time whether she should help herself to the remains of the stale 
loaf or not, for Peg was not exactly a rogue at heart ; but she 
naturally came to the conclusion that as Weazel had done his 
best to starve her for the last year or two, it would be no great 
crime to help herself to a bit of his bread without leave. So 
Peg cut the loaf into slices, and stowed them away in myste- 
rious parts of her scanty garments, and putting her dirty, paste- 
board coal-scuttle (which she naively imagined to be a bonnet) 
on her head, she left the house and ran through a dozen differ- 
ent streets before she had thought of which w^ay to steer her 
course. 

When Weazel came home, whistling with delight at his tri- 
umph — and Weazel’s oldest friend never suspected him of being 
able to whistle before — he was much surprised and disgusted 
to find his eternal pulls at the bell, and thumps at the knocker 
entirely unheeded, especially as he had gone out without his 
latch-key. At lengj^ after imprecating all beggarly girls to- 
gether, and Peg Tooa in particular, Mr. Weazel was compelled 
to climb over his own area railings, in doing which, he was 
seized by a policeman as a housebreaker, and only released on 
producing two neighbors to prove that he was entering his own 
premises. Getting in at the kitchen window, he found that Peg 
had gone, but it was not till a late hour of the night that he 
could persuade himself of the possibility of her not returning. 
In the evening, he indulged in rum and water to an unprece- 
dented extent, and made the nearest approach to intoxication 
that he ever ventured on : for Mr. Weazel^was too cautious a 
fellow to get drunk, and even in this present little excess, he 
took care to be completely alone. 

Meantime, Peg wandered on through unknown streets, tliink- 
ing the great city endless ; for, like every one running away, 
she was anxious to get out of London, though, in case of pur- 
suit, the town itself offers a thousand advantages for conceal- 


ANOTHER RUNAWAY. 


147 


merit over the open country. Her little legs were pretty well 
tired, when she at length found herself toiling up a long, steep 
road that bore some traces of a country aspect, but Peg did 
not know that she was ascending Ilighgate Hill, and w'as on 
what used to be the great high-road to the North, before rail- 
ways supplanted mail-coaches. 

A beggar-girl (and Peg looked like one) is no very remark- 
able object, thanks to our civilization, so that her appearance 
excited no one’s attention. Once a passer by, having an in- 
convenient copper weighing down the pocket of his paletbt, be- 
stowed it on Peg, and thought he had done an act of charity^ 
The girl took the coin, which she had not asked for, in sur- 
prise, and never thanked the donor. It put a new' idea into 
her head, however, which was that she w^ould turn professional 
beggar, and try to pick up a livelihood along the road. Hence- 
forth, therefore, she bobbed a curtsy to every one she met, and 
held out her hand, and so successful w^as she, that, by the time 
darkness began to overtake her, she found herself possessed of 
the magnificent sum of eight pence half-penny. Visions of hot 
suppers and pints of beer actually iS^an to flit aciXKSs her 
brain j for Peg had no very correct notion of the \alue of 
money, Mr. Weazel having taken excellent care never to send 
her to market for the smallest trifle, lest she should cheat him 
some day of a half-penny. 

it was growing very dark, and Peg^was tired. She w^as not 
hungry also, because she had eaten more bread than usual, so 
that really the hot supper vision may be regarded as a y)iece of 
spontaneous gourmandise on the part of the young traveller ; 
but it was clearly necessary to have some place to lie in during 
the night. 

She stopped : there was a country-built public house by the 
road-side, one of those cosy, w'arm, quiet looking hostelries 
that really are of genuine English origin. There were two bow 
window's w'ith red curtains, and between the windows was a 
doorway, entering which was seen a bar on the right hand 


148 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


side, with a small tap-room in front of it, and on the left the 
more aristocratic “parlor,” with its sanded floor, round tables 
with legs ending in gouty -looking feet, strong Windsor chairs, 
sporting prints of impossible hunting scenes, when riders wore 
tails to their own hair and cut oflf those of their horses ; and 
the inevitable, before-mentioned, crimson curtains in the win- 
dow. Before the house was the sign-post with the swinging 
sign-board representing George the Third in a pig-tail as big 
as that appended to the renowned statue at Charing Cross, and 
with an appropriate expression of fat imbecility in his face. In 
front of the sign-post again was a long trough where a wagoner 
was refreshing his team with water d> discretion^ and a tantaliz- 
ingly small portion of hay. 

Peg approached the doorway, and seeing the plump-looking 
landlady inside, she bobbed another curtsy, and held out her 
hand. 

“ Go away, go away ; don’t come begging here,” cried the 
landlady ; “ or, stay, perhaps you rnay be hungry, here are 
some victuals,” and she handed Peg a lump of bread and a bit 
of broken meat, whictf%ould certainly have satisfied any girl’s 
appetite, but which seemed to the good-natured woman, who 
could dispose of a pound of rump-steak for her own supper, to 
be small enough. 

Peg curtsied again, but there was something too imposing in 
the landlady’s appearance for her to venture to ask her for a 
night’s shelter. 

“ Holloa, little ’un !” cried an ostler, who saw her moving 
away ; “ What are you up to 

Peg scarcely knew how to answer this lucid question, so she 
simply said, “ She wasn’t up to nothing,” which was at least as 
intelligible as the question. 

“Where do you live when you’re at home?” asked the 
ostler. 

“ I haven’t got any home, and I don’t live anywhere,” was 
the reply. 


ANOTHER RUNAWAY. 


149 


“ Crikey !” cried the ostler, with a peculiar whistle, “ why 
YOU ain^t brown enough for a gipsy, and them’s the only folks, 
except the tramps, that don’t live nowhere. You’re a young 
tramp, if you art one.” 

“ I ain’t a tramp,” said Peg, who did not know the meaning 
of the word, but conceived it to be a term of reproach of some 
kind. 

“ Where are you a going, then 1” asked the ostler, with the 
inquisitiveness of his class. 

“ Oh, ever so far,” answered Peg. 

“ North f ’ asked the ostler. 

“ Yes,” said Peg, who knowing nothing of the points of the 
compass, thought north would do as well as any other way. 

“ But where are you going to sleep ?” asked the ostler. 

This was a puzzler to Peg. 

“ Don’t know, I suppose,” said the ostler ; thought so. 
Now look "here, there’s a loft where I could give you a shake 
down for the night, if you don’t mind a rat or two running 
about. They won’t bite yow, because they likes corn better, 
though they ain’t always comfortable bed folks neither. How- 
s’ever we can’t have all as we likes,” continued the philosophic 
ostler ; ‘‘ leastways, unless we’ve got no end of money, and I 
don’t suppose that’s your case no more than mine.” 

Peg was expressing her perfect acquiescence in the last re- 
mark of the ostler, when a third person joined them. This was 
the wagoner, who had been taking a glass of ale in the tap- 
room. 

“ What are you a sayin’ to the little un, eh. Bill 1” asked 
he. She’s a tiny sort of a body, she is.’’ 

“ She’s a going ever so far, she says,” replied Bill, “ and she 
ain’t got no place to sleep in, so I was offering her my loft, if 
she don’t mind rats.” 

“ But she do mind rats ; in course she do, poor little body,” 
said the wagoner, kindly. “ If she’s going North, she’s wel- 
come to a lift in my wagon — there’s no rats there, and she’ll 


150 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


sleep in it like a bed. Would you like to go, little girl ?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, please,” answered Peg, who somehow or other took 
an unaccountable fancy to the wagoner from his looks, or his 
voice, or the kindness of his manner. 

“ All right then — no, stay a minute,” said the wagoner, when 
he had lifted the girl into the wagon — “ stay a bit,” and ho 
lumbered back into the inn, and coming out with a small mug 
of beer, he handed it to Peg. “ Drink that — every drop on 
it — don’t be afeard ; it’ll make you sleep nicely.” 

A minute or two afterwards the wagoner’s whip was crack- 
ing, his voice was crying the peculiar “ hee-whoop,” which is 
supposed to be most intelligible to the equine race, the wagon 
w'as lumbering heavily along the road, and Peg Todd was try- 
ing to make herself comfortable for her night’s rest. She suc- 
ceeded so well, that before a quarter of an hour had passed, 
the child was in a deep slumber. 

When Peg awoke in the morning, she was surprised to find 
the wagon stopping, as she at first thought, at the very spot 
V hence they started the night before; but it was not so, though 
the present road-side inn was very much like the other. In- 
deed, when she looked round, she saw that she was much far- 
ther in the country, as few houses were visible, but fields of all 
kinds, and hedgerows, and cattle, and sheep. 

“ Halloa, lass ! awake at last, he ? A mortal power o’ sleep 
you’ve had, lass, and it ’ll do you good,” cried the jolly wag- 
oner, coming up to her. “ Now get down and come in here 
and get a bit o’ breakfast and he lifted Peg Todd to the 
ground and led her into the little tap-room, where an im- 
mense slice of ^bacon, some brown bread, and a jug of hot 
milk were laid. It is not too much to declare that this 
was by far the most luxurious meal Peg had ever partaken 
of, since the death of the old man who protected her be- 
fore she passed into the hands of our fiiend Mr. Weazel, 


ANOTHER RUNAWAY. 151 

She ate with an appetite that almost surprised the jolly 
wagoner himself. 

“ Have you got any money to pay for all that, lass 
asked he, with a grin, when Peg hed finished. 

Peg produced her eight-pence halfpenny, 

“ Ila, ha ! bravo, lass, — put it back in your pocket,” said 
he, laughing, “ old Tom ain’t rich, but he can pay for a wee 
thing like you.” 

When they were starting again, old Tom (as he called 
himself) was about to lift Peg back to her place in the wag- 
on, but she begged to be allowed to walk for some time: 
so they trudged on, side by side. 

“ Tell ’ee what it is, lass,” said Tom : ‘‘ you’re too young 
to be going about like this ; where’s father and mother 

“ I ain’t got any,” answered Peg. 

“ Dead, eh f ’ said Tom, sadly. 

“ No,” said Peg, “ I never had none.” 

“ Never had no father nor mother — haw, haw ! that’s a good 
’un,” laughed old Tom : “ Stop a bit,” he said, seriously ; “ I 
see — a fondling, ehf’ 

“ That’s it,” said Peg ; “ that’s what grand-dad said 1 was.” 

Who was he asked Tom. 

Peg explained as much as she knew of her history, and Tom 
listened gravely, and with deep interest to the narrative. 

“And so this little bad man worn’t kind to you, eh?” ask- 
ed Tom, at the conclusion of the story. 

“I hate him !” cried the girl, fiercely. 

“ Hold hard !” said Tom, “ that won’t do : we musn’t hate 
no one — leastways if we can help it, — which ben’t easy al- 
ways, certainly.” 

After this there was a pause. Peg had talked more the 
last few minutes than in all the previous two or three years, 
and naturally wanted breath, while Tom was exerting his poor 
brain to devise some plan for aiding the girl permanently. 

“ Should you like to live with a parish-clerk ?” asked Tom. 


152 


LORIMEE LITTLEGOOD. 


Peg declared truly that she was perfectly unacquainted 
with the profession in question ; and certainly, on second 
thoughts, Tom confessed to himself that it had not much to do 
with the point. 

I “ What I mean is this,” said Tom : “ I know a man and his 
wife in a big town Fm going to, who want a house girl. The 
man’s a shoemaker and a parish-clerk, and he’s a kind-hearted 
man too, and his wife’s as good a body as need be, and Fm 
sure if they took you they’d not starve you nor ill-treat you 
no-how : but would you work hard 

“ Yes,” said Peg, “ Fm used to it.” 

“ And you’d be honest, eh ?” 

“ I never took nothing but the bit of bread I told you of,” 
said Peg, rather indignantly. 

“ Poor lass !” said Tom, patting the dirty bonnet kindly. 
“ Well I tell you what it is, if Crank ain’t got a girl by when 
we get to his place. I’ll try to make him take you — that’s the 
best thing I can say.” 

Peg thanked him as well as she was able, and next evening 
they arrived at the town where her fate for the present was 
to be decided. 

Old Tom took her to the house of his friends, and said 
everything he could in her favor. Indeed he said a great 
deal more than he could possibly have known, but all of 
which he thoroughly believed, for honest-hearted Tom’s faith 
was large, and what he believed he fancied he knew also. 

“ She’s very small,” observed Mrs. Crank. 

“ Little and good,” replied old Tom. 

“ True enough said Mr. Crank, who was of the smallest 
pbuild himself, — “She’ll do.” 

' And so Peg Todd was engaged as *maid-ofall-work in the 
establishment of Mr. Crank, bootmaker and parish-clerk in 
the town of Tweford. 


REVEKSE OF FORTUNE. 


153 


CHAPTER XX. ^ 

HOW THE LITTLEGOODS BORE REVERSE OF FORTUNE. 

To awake and find one’s self famous must be an exhilarat- 
ing and glorious sensation ; to find one’s self suddenly pos- 
sessed of a fortune must be almost equally delightful ; but, in 
intensity, though in the opposite direction, perhaps both sensa- 
tions are surpassed by that of being suddenly beggared. It is 
said that great griefs are never felt in all their fulness at first, 
and especially is this true of the most sacred of griefs, that 
which arises from the death of those dear to us : we cannot 
then realize our loss all at once, and, therefore, we cannot 
realize all our sorrow. This may also be the case as regards 
loss of fortune, to some extent, but it is not altogether so. 
In thinking of the dead whom we loved in life, we are enjoy- 
ing one of the most exquisite of the pleasures of memory ; and 
though we mourn that we have lost so much beauty, aflection, 
or goodness, yet the very recollection of those qualities is, in 
some sense, a balm to the wounded heart. We will not pre- 
sume to place the grief which we experience for mere loss 
of fortune beside such a grief as this ; but yet, in one sense, 
it is more painful — it has nothing to mitigate it. It is no con- 
solation, but a downright aggravation of our sorrow, to recall 
the pleasures that wealth purchased for us and compare our 
present penury and helplessness with our condition then. 

Doubtless the philosopher — with his feet on his Turkey car- 
pet, his bottle of claret at his elbow, and his fire burning 
cheerfully — will speak contemptuously of the idea of mourn- 
ing over the mere loss of we;^th. It is very absurd ; and yet 


154 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


there is not one who would not be guilty of the absurdity to- 
morrow. Our friend, Lorimer Littlegood, was neither phi- 
losopher nor hero, and, therefore, he was sadly cast down at 
his sudden reverse of fortune. Perhaps he would have borne 
it better, if not almost with indifference, had he been led to ex- 
pect it as probable, but old Bosher having all along assured 
him that Bennoch’s claim was a mere trumped up one to ex- 
tort money, he never had any serious fears of the result. On 
attending the hearing of the cause (which Mr. Bosher took 
care not to do), Lorimer soon became convinced of the villany 
of Mr. Bosher, the invalidity of his own title to the property, 
and the utter beggary which awaited him. 

At first he was violent in his grief, he wished he could get 
hold of Bosher and strangle him ; he wished he himself might 
be seized with a violent illness and die ; and many other such 
ridiculous ideas. By degrees he began to suspect that he was 
acting very absurdly, and behaving rather like a coward than 
a man of sense. After all he was young, well-educated, strong 
in body, and sound in mind. He was no worse off than ten 
thousand others of his age and birth ; he must trace out some 
new course of life and pursue it steadily, and live in hopes of 
realizing an independence for himself. Before night he was 
tolerably quiet and collected. 

It was two days, however, before he could summon up reso- 
lution enough to go down to his sister and mother. 

“Poor Jessie!” he exclaimed to himself, as he sat in the 
railway carriage, “ how I dread to think of her fate ! What 
a selfish brute I have been to be fretting over my own loss 
of fortune when she, a helpless girl, will suffer ten thousand 
times worse than I. True she has a home, for the cottage ib 
ours, and the magnificent income of one hundred a year! 

What a sum to live on ! about as much as I have spent in 

oh! hang it, 1 shall go mad if I conjure up the ghosts of my 
own follies and extravagances to haunt me. How truly retri- 
bution follows crime ; and how absurd to suppose because we 


KEVEKSE OF FOKTUNE. 


155 


do not see the punishment of many offenders, that therefore 
they do not suffer any. I am convinced that every evil deed 
bears with it the germs of its own punishment, as invariably 
as the flower carries the seed in its heart, whose gradual devel- 
opment is its own destruction.” 

For the first time in his life Lorimer approached the cot- 
tage with a sensation of dread ; but scarcely had he entered 
the gravel road leading to the hall door, before the latter was 
thrown open, and Jessie rushed out joyously to welcome him. 

“ My dear, dear brother, I am so pleased to see you,” she 
exclaimed. “ It’s very kind of you to come to us, just at the 
moment when 1 want yonr assistance too. Come in, come 
in.” 

Lorimer was completely astounded. Either Jessie w^as a 
wonderful actress, or she w'as a wonderful woman, to appear 
or to be thus indifferent to reverse of fortune. Indeed, she 
appeared rather elated by it than otherwise. Certainly she 
could not be assuming a cheerfulness she did not feel, for she 
was too natural and single-minded for such a part; and yet 
was it possible that she should really contemplate poverty 
without fear ? 

Are you not well, Lorimer dear ?” she asked. “ You look 
pale and haggard. Surely, you naughty boy, you have not 
been fretting about the loss of property, have you? I shall 
not believe that, even if you tell me so.” 

Indeed, Jessie, then you must remain incredulous, in spite 
of its l)eing a fact, that i have fretted terribly — I am ashamed 
to think how much — over this dreadful reverse.” 

“Donh call it a dreadful reverse, my dear brother,” cried 
Jessie. “ Dej-iend upon it, there is nothing so likely to frighten 
us as giving anything an , ugly name. What is a change of for- 
tune, after all ? and wFy should you repine at it? Remember 
that 1 always told you that your own good and noble qualities 
would never come into play w^hile you led a life of inglorious 
ease. Do not repine at what will make you a better man. 


156 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Poverty can only degrade the naturally wicked ; to the good, 
it is only the fire that purifies the silver from the dross that in- 
crusted it.” 

“But I am not of the good, Jessie, I fear,” said Lorimer, 
with a sigh. 

“ Time will prove that,” answered Jessie, with confidence. 
“ Meantime, brother dear, I have firm faith in you ; and be- 
lieve me, that if you will always keep that one fact before your 
eyes, it will save you from many a temptation — not because it 
is I, your sister, who have confidence in you, but for the moral 
influence produced by the consciousness that there is at least 
one who will think no ill of you. Trust breeds Truths 

“ God bless you, my darling sister ! Surely never nobler 
heart beat in woman’s breast,” cried Lorimer, embracing her. 
“But indeed, Jessie, I have latterly been mourning more for 
your fate that my own.” 

“ Then throw off your mourning, and wear a ‘ suit of sables,’ 
as Hamlet says (though I never could tell exactly what he 
means) ; for I assure you I am much happier now than I was be- 
fore. I have something to do, and I was never made for in- 
activity.” 

“ Something to do ?” asked Lorimer. “ Why, what can you 
mean ?” 

“ 1 will tell you what I donH mean first,” answered J essie, 
laughing. “ I don’t mean that I have taken a maid-of-all -work’s 
place, nor a cook’s, nor a housemaid’s, because really I don’t 
think I’m competent for the duties of either! I haven’t thought 
it necessary to turn up my sleeves, leave my hair undressed, 
and scrub the door-step, by way of showing that I can endure 
poverty. 1 have not advertised for plain needle-work, because 
I’m a very bad sempstress ; and I don’t believe any lady would 
wear a petticoat, or any gentleman a shirt, made by my hands. 
I have not written to any theatrical manager, London or pro- 
vincial, to offer him the bare chance of securing my inestimable 
services as an actress of anything from Lady Macbeth to a pert 
soubrette ” 


KEVERSE OF FORTUNE. 157 

‘‘ What have you done cried Lorimer, laughing, and inter- 
rupting her. 

“ I have simply called on most of our best friends in the 
neighborhood who have children, and expressed my willingness 
to educate their daughters at twenty pounds a year each.” 

“ And they 1” asked Lorimer. 

“ They have promised me, among them, just ten pupils, 
which (you see I am ‘ getting up’ my arithmetic) will give me 
two hundred pounds a year. This, added to our mother’s one 
hundred pounds, will give us a sufficient income to live on, and 
to offer a home to my dear brother as often and as long as he 
will accept it at our hands.” 

“ You are a wonderful girl, Jessie,” said Lorimer, looking at 
her with delight and affection. 

“ I am nothing of the kind,” answered his sister, “ and I 
don’t wish to be flattered. But I want your assistance, Lori- 
mer.” 

“ How so 1” he asked. 

To help me make out a list of school books. Many of 
those used in girls’ schools are such wretched things — bare 
facts and dates, which may be crammed into the head by force, 
but must inevitably tumble out again, like the articles in a 
badly -packed carpet-bag, and cannot be of any earthly use even 
while they remain in it. Now, I am sure that there must be 
far better educational books published— books that will lead a 
child forward through the subject it professes to teach, and not 
merely throw facts at him, to bewilder his brain and distress 
his memory.” 

“ Upon my word, Jessie,” said Lorimer, laughing, “you will 
distinguish yourself in your new career ; you seem already to 
have got a strong theory of your own on the subject of educa- 
tion.” 

“ You are only quizzing me, I know,” answered Jessie ; 
“ but I certainly have thought a great deal on the subject, and 
it seems to me no very difficult one to comprehend. I cannot 
11 


158 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


help fancying that nature and common sense are the best au- 
thorities we can consult in the matter. There is now a great 
outcry for an extension of education — I don’t mean educating 
more people, but making education embrace more subjects. 
To me there seems much error in this, and I firmly believe 
that more reformation is needed in the method of imparting 
knowledge than in the multiplication of its branches. Does it 
not strike you that the present is a very frivolous age 1 Don’t 
you think a great proportion of even clever people have a won- 
derfully superficial acquaintance with everything they pretend 
to talk about, and a bantering tone which is quite as much as- 
sumed to hide shallowness as to exhibit wit 

“We certainly live in, an age when it is the fashion to laugh 
at everything,” said Lorimer, 

“ Yes, because it is easier to laugh at anything than to com* 
prehend it. Now, to my poor brain, it seems that this very 
shallowness and love of ridicule (1 do not say they are always 
inseparable) arise from no deterioration of the intellect, but 
from its defective cultivation, and because it has never been 
trained to exercise and strengthen its powers by really study- 
ing any one subject, but has been satisfied with scraps and facts 
collected from all the histories and sciences known to the 
world.” 

“ Bravo !” cried Lorimer, “ Spoken like a professor, and 
reasoned like a sage.” 

“ Well, I shall talk no more about it,” said Jessie, “as you 
only laugh at me, and certainly 1 have prosed away enough. 
However, I intend to put my theory into practice with my 
pupils, and see if I cannot form minds and characters at the 
same time. And now, sir, come here ; take that pen and paper, 
and write down the list.” 

While they were thus employed, and were in the midst of a 
merry laugh over some remark of Jessie’s, Mrs. Littlegood, 
who had only just risen, entered the room, and stared in sur- 
prise at the happy faces of her two children. 

“ My dear boy !” she exclaimed, as Lorimer rose and em- 


REVERSE OF FORTUNE. 


159 


braced her. “ And has Jessie set you mad, too she added ; 
“for I find you both laughing as if something very delightful 
had just happened, instead of our being all ruined.” 

“Jessie says we must not call things ugly names, and then* 
we shall not be so alarmed at them,” replied Lorimer ; “ and 
really, my dear mother, I begin to be quite of her opinion, for 
1 came down here in terribly bad spirits, and this little witch 
has so talked me into sense, that I almost feel as if I had just 
come into a fortune instead of having lost one.” 

“ Ah, that wicked Mr. Bosher !” said the old lady, with a 
sigh. 

Mortimer muttered something, which may have been a 
naughty word ; we will hope it was not, as no one heard it. 

“ He has done me an act of kindness, at all events,” said 
Jessie. 

“ How so ?” asked Lorimer. 

“ By going away,” she answered. “ I never felt happy in 
that mail’s presence — I always feared him and distrusted him 
in short, he was as disagreeable to me as a sleek cobra capella 
would be crawling about my room, and making me dread the 
moment when he would strike.” 

“ W e shall hear of more ruins caused by that man’s villany,” 
cried Mrs. Littlegood. 

“ Let us hope, my dearest mother, that they will fall on none 
less able to bear them than ourselves,” answered Jessie. “ We 
have a house to shelter us, and an independence, even in our 
poverty, which many, many would envy : two of us are young, 
and full of health, and hope, and energy ; and it will be strange 
indeed if we cannot make you, the third, happy and comfort- 
able.” 

“ God bless you, my children !” said the old lady, weeping ; 
while Lorimer gently stole his sister^s hand into his, and press- 
ed it warmly. 

And that night Lorimer Littlegood slept soundly, and woke 
next morning with a light heart. The battle of life was to he 
fought, and he was nerved for the strife. 


160 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

BILL BENNOCH ENTERTAINS HIS FRIENDS IN AN UNEXPECTED 
MANNER. 

We need scarcely say that William Bennoch, Esq., was now 
a very great man in the estimation of himself and all his par- 
ticular friends and acquaintances. Indeed, the only one who 
seemed disposed to dispute his greatness was his wife, who con- 
sidered him still a brute, though a rich one. Mr. Weazel was 
also, perchance, of the same opinion ; but Weazel was a great 
deal too prudent to express his sentiments, as he was deeply 
interested in keeping on the best of terms with his friend. Of 
course Mr. Weazel had taken very good care of himself, and 
had persuaded Bennoch to hand him as much ready money as 
he could decently ask for under all sorts of pretences ; for Ben- 
noch was not naturally an avaricious man ; he was simply a 
confirmed drunkard, with all the low and brutal vices neces- 
sarily connected with that character. Still, with the cunning 
common to madmen and drunkards, he was often suspicious 
that he was being “ done and on such occasions Mr. Weazel 
met his match, and found the purse-strings immovable. 

The first move made by theBennochs was into a good house, 
which was furnished for them at the shortest notice, by those 
accommodating upholsterers, Messrs. Marquetrie and Co., who 
obligingly crammed their rooms with everything that was ex- 
pensive and useless, and made out a bill whose dimensions as- 
tonished Bill, and frightened his wife, as it amounted to about 
a year’s income of their new fortune. 

Never did any one feel more uncomfortable than Wm. Ben 


BILL BENNOCII ENTEKTAINS HIS FKIENBS. 161 

noch, Esq.^ in his new abode. The nuisance of having to wear 
clean linen, and wash his face and hands, was bad enough ; but 
not to be allowed to smoke his pipe in the drawing-room, or 
spit on the carpet, was quite insufferable. He never had much 
fancy for wine — even the strong, thick, heavy mixture dignified 
by the name of “ fruity port,’^ which he had occasionally 
tasted in a public-house parlor ; but now that his cellar was 
stocked with choice vintages of France, Spain, and Portugal, 
he hated it more than ever, as it did not burn in his throat, 
nor make him drunk within anything like a reasonable time. 
By degrees he took to brand y-and-water, and from thence he 
passed by easy stages to that most diabolical of all liquids — 
London gin. To have unlimited means of procuring this, might 
seem to be a drunkard’s paradise ; but after all, the load of re- 
spectability was too heavy to be borne patiently on the shoul- 
ders of such a blackguard as our friend Bill. 

Mrs. Bennoch played her new rdle of lady much better. 
She felt rather awkward in silk dresses and gloves, and had a 
natural propensity to turn up her sleeves, as if she were going 
to drive her arms into the washing- tub, which she found it di^ 
ficult to control. Neither did her temper altogether improve; 
and when Bill made a beast of himself (which was not much 
less frequently than of yore), she missed the soap-suds to throw 
over him terribly, and had to give vent to her rage in an ad- 
ditional quantity of vituperation, coming clearly within the 
category of “ Billingsgate.” 

Rose was the unhappiest of all. She did not enjoy the change 
of life in the least ; on the contrary, she was constantly recall- 
ing the fact that their present prospect was built on the ruin 
of the only good and true friend she had known. The child 
was daily growing in sense and feeling ; but the new scenes 
in which she lived served rather to retard her progress than 
to aid it. Her dread of her father, and her half fear of 
even her mother, did not diminish, and with their return came 
the strange reserve, the love of solitude, and the stealthy, and 


162 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


almost cunning, actions which distinguished her at home in tho 
dirty little alley. 

Her mother, to do her justice, was not without many qualms 
of conscience at living on what she could scarcely forbear from 
regarding as the property of one who had done such kindness 
to her loved child. But Weazel’s ingenuity, though she still 
hated the man, removed many of these impressions ; and she 
could not but find the change from eternal labor and want, to 
ease and plenty, a most agreeable one. 

As for young Dick, he was transformed by tailor, hosier, and 
bootmaker, into such wonderful contrast to his former self that 
certainly his oldest friends would have failed to recognize him. 
Dick did not altogether appreciate the metamorphosis ; and the 
veto laid on alleys and chuck-farthing was regarded by him 
with as much disgust as the prohibition of pipes and spitting in 
the drawing-room by his father. 

The latter, however, hit upon an expedient for remedying 
his own sufferings in part. Somebody had told him that every 
gentleman had a room to himself— a studio, or sanctum, where 
he might do what he liked, and into which womankind was 
never admitted. So Bill determined to furnish a studio. 

First of all he laid down the thickest of Turkey carpets, for 
Bill had no objection to carpets themselves, but merely to 
being prevented from spitting on them. Then he had a great, 
strong, oak table, three or four chairs of similar build, with 
loose cushions, a small boiler to keep up an unlimited supply 
of hot water, a few prize-fight prints on the wall, a sofa as 
wide as a bed to roll on, and a bookcase filled — not with books, 
but tobacco and pipes, brandy, gin, rum, and whiskey, and a 
large supply of strong tumblers. This was Bill’s studio — and 
he passed the greater portion of his time at his studies. 

With all these delights, however, he was not a happy man. 
He missed his old associates — not that he loved them, or that 
they cared an iota for him, but from mere habit. He was ac- 
customed to them, and could not be comfortable without their 


BILL BENNOCH ENTEKTAINS HIS FEIENDS. 103 

noise, and their rows, and their oaths ; though even Bill was 
proud to exhibit his quondam friends in his new house to the 
critical gaze of servants and dependents. At length he resolv- 
ed to give them all a grand entertainment, or, as he termed ijt, 
“a jolly blow out.” So keeping himself moderately sober for 
once, he sallied forth, and called at the forge, and in the old alley, 
and sought out the most disreputable fellows in both places 
(they being his most intimate friends) and invited them all to 
a supper at the “ Pig and Vampire,” the landlord of which 
was profuse in expressions of delight at beholding Bill’s charm- 
ing countenance once more, and renewed his congratulations on 
the subject of the fortune. 

The important evening arrived at last, and with it arrived 
also the guests — punctually at 8 p. m. Bill was greeted with 
the noisiest demonstrations of affection, and three cheers were 
raised in his honor. Already he had been at work in his 
studio, and was just getting on to the high road to exhilara- 
tion. The table was spread with a clean cloth — a luxury that 
probably only one of the party ever partook of elsewhere. 
Bill assumed the chair with grand importance — the dishes were 
brought in — the covers removed, and the feast displayed. It 
was plentiful, if not refined in taste. There was a tremendous 
goose stuffed with sage and onions, a sirloin of beef, a boiled 
leg of mutton and turnips, a large dish of tripe and onions, a 
rabbit pie, and a huge piece of boiled bacon — enough, at all 
events, for the select party of eight, who sat down to it. 

There was not much conversation while the eating was going 
on — mouths being more profitably employed, for every man 
ate as if his life depended on being able to dispose of some 
perfectly enormous quantity of animal food in a given small 
space of time. Beer was drank by the quart, and out of the 
pewter. Bill offered them wine if they liked it, but one and 
all voted it poor stuff, and not to be compared with Barcky 
and Perkins — improved by the landlord of the “Pig and Vam- 
pire.” 


164 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


When every body had eaten till he felt as if he should never 
be able to eat any more as long as he lived — a sensation known 
occasionally to people of the ancient aldermanic class — the 
cloth was removed, and tumblers, hot water, and spirits 
brought in. Then began the real business of the evening. 

First, one Mr. Thomas Short, a blacksmith, arose to pro- 
pose the health of the giver of the feast ; which he did some- 
what as follows : — 

“ Gen’lemen — I rise to give yer an ’ealth — the ’ealth of one 
who’s a swell now, but who aint proud for all that — for he’s 
come here to see his old friends — and we hare his friends, 
every one of us — (great cheering) — and he’s give us a supper, 
which I calls a reg’lar out and outer. And it’s my ’pinion he’s 
a brick, every inch of him ; and I ’ope he’ll ’sense me for say- 
ing he’s a brick, (cheers — and a nod from Bill, who also mut- 
tered, “ Go it, old cock) and so, gen’lemen, I gives for his jolly 
good ’ealth, and many of ’em.” 

Tremendous approbation followed — every man drank his 
tumbler of grog right off, (‘‘ no heel-taps” being vociferated) 
and then every man thumped the table with his glass as if to 
test its strength. 

Bill arose to return thanks, and held on pretty tight to the 
table in doing so, for he was conscious of feeling a little un- 
steady on his legs. Assuming an air of great gravity, he roll- 
ed his eyes a little, and leant his head forward — then he hic- 
cupped, and then he winked his eye, which last feat was ap- 
plauded as a great piece of wit. He opened his mouth once 
and seemed to be going to speak, but no words came out. His 
friends were all attention, but, just as he opened his mouth 
again, he slipped back into his seat, and from his seat he slip- 
ped to the floor. Two or three sprang to pick him up. 

« “ Holloa, Bill ! What is it ? all right, old fellow, eh ?” they 

cried, but no response came from Bill. 

“ He’s very drunk,” said one. 

“ Pull off his coat and loose his collar,” said another, ^ 


BILL BENNOCH ENTEKTAINS 1115 FKIENDS. 105 

“ Blowed if he aint precious bad,” said another. 

“ Lor ’bless ye, I’ve see’d Bill a precious sight wor »e often 
enough,” cried a fourth : “ he’ll just get up a laugh aC ye, by- 
and-bye.” 

“ He don’t move much, and he do look ’orrid pale, y how,” 
suggested the one who had pulled off Bill’s cravat. 

“I’m blessed if he aint dying,” said one. “I see Jim 
Spraggs go off just like that.” 

There was a cry of horror at this suggestion, and uhe tables 
were thrust aside, and all surrounded Bill. 

“ Call in the landlord,” said one, and four or five rushed out 
to do so. 

The landlord came in with his cap on his head, ai d his pipe 
in his mouth, and looked at Bill, as he was held iu a sitting 
position on the floor, with his head in the hands of one of the 
men. The landlord looked, he pulled his pipe from his mouth, 
drew a long breath, and said, 

“He’s dead !” 

“ Run for a doctor,” some one cried ; and as Bill, or Bill’s 
estate could pay for one, they were not long in procuring him. 

The doctor felt his pulse, listened at his heart, and said, 

“ Dead, quite dead !” 

And the drunken fellows around felt a cold shudder pass 
over them, and could not withdraw their gaze from Bill’s bloat- 
ed, livid face. And each one thought his own turn might be 
next, and each one made a vow (to be broken within a week) 
to abstain from liquor henceforth. 

And many another drunkard shook in his shoes when he 
heard how “ staggering Bill” had died. 


166 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

PEG TODD MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 

Peg Todd began to feel herself a most important personage 
in her new situation. She was cook, housemaid, waiting-maid, 
laundress, and nurse. Certainly, this access of dignity was not 
without its drawbacks, in the shape of hard work and occasional 
vexations. Mr. and Mrs. Crank had two children — one a young 
gentleman of five years old, and the other a “ baby” of two. 
Peg, being one of the most diminutive of her sex, looking far 
from imposing when enacting the rdle of nurse, carrying a baby 
almost as big as herself in her arms, and vainly attempting to 
drag along the refractory Master Crank, who, having a spirit 
of his own, was particularly fond of displaying it against his 
nurse in the public streets. 

“ Come along with yer, yer young imp ! I never see such a 
limb in my life,” Peg would cry, giving Master Bobby a vigor- 
ous tug at the same time. 

“ Ooh ! ooh 1” Bobby would roar. “ I’ll tell mother. Ooh ! 
ooh !” 

“ Aah ! aah !” in a shriller key screamed “ baby,” from sym- 
pathy with its dear brother. 

“ Drat the children !” cried Peg, struggling along, every inch 
of progress violently disputed by Bobby. 

“ How dare you ill-treat the child ? — dragging its arms off 
like that !” exclaimed some tender mother, passing by, and fan- 
cying the “ dear child” must have been hurt by Peg. 

“ It ain’t no business of yours !” roared Peg, furious at this 
attack from a stranger, and conscious of her own innocence. 


P^;G TODD MEETS AN OLD FKIEND. 167 

“You saucy young hussy !” said the tender-mother stranger. 
“ I’ll tell your mistress, that 1 will.” 

“ So you may,” cried Peg. 

“ Ooh ! ooh !” went Bobby, and “Aah! aah 1” went baby 
again ; and Peg perhaps wished she could fling them both into 
the gutter, and run away, she was so sick of it. 

When she at length reached home on these occasions, Bobby 
usually lodged a complaint against her for cruelty, to which 
Peg responded by a counter charge of insubordination and 
other transgressions, which resulted in Master Bobby getting a 
smack on the ear and no sugar in his milk-and-water. 

Nor was Peg the most accomplished of cooks. She could 
never succeed in boiling a potatoe to the satisfaction of any- 
body but herself ; but then she was very easily satisfied indeed. 
A steak she generally managed to dry up like a piece of sole- 
leather, or else to burn it black outside and have it of a most 
unpleasant purple inside. She never attempted a pie-crust but 
once, and then even Peg confessed that it was difficult to get 
your teeth out of it when once you had got them in. 

As a housemaid, Peg might be said to excel. She could 
scrub floors, and sweep carpets, and clean windows, and rub 
furniture all day, with great apparent gusto. How she con- 
trived to escape suffocation from the dust of her own raising, — 
how she ever managed to get off the several layers of inky dirt 
which she accumulated on her own face after these grand ef- 
forts, it is impossible for us even to surmise ; but certainly Peg 
managed it in some mysterious way of her own. 

Mrs. Crank was a good sort of woman, with a mania for tidi- 
ness — a most unpleasant sort of mania to come in contact with. 
W oe be to the man that protests against it ! he is sure to be 
told that he is a slovenly, careless fellow, whose long bacherlor 
hood has led him into frightful habits ; or if the lady be of a 
less polished order of society, she will probably swear that he 
likes “ everything in a muddle.” Now, Peg had no more no- 
tion of tidiness than a young bear. She had no objection to 


168 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


scrubbing things and cleaning them ; but, as to putting them 
into the exact places where they ought to be, it was altogether 
out of her line ; and so she had many a lecture and a lesson, 
and it was a long time before she profited by them. 

Mr. Crank himself, bootmaker and parish clerk, was a quiet, 
easy-going man, who literally and figuratively “ stuck to his 
last,” except when parish affairs called him from it. He took 
very little notice of Peg, except when his spouse was lecturing 
the girl in his presence, wdien he usually struck in with his fa- 
vorite sentence, “ Oh, she’ll do !” In fact, Mr. Crank’s philo- 
sophy was summed up in those words — he thought everything 
and everybody “ would do” somehow. Whether his dinner 
was badly cooked, his shirt badly washed, his new coat wouldn’t 
fit, his wife was out of temper, or his children out of health, 
Mr. Crank settled it that they would all do in time. A very 
happy philosophy this, and one deserving of some cultivation. 
How many things fret and vex us, that would pass unnoticed 
if we adopted Mr. Crank’s views. How often we waste time, 
and money, and labor of body and brain, to attain something 
which we don’t really need, or which we could do perfectly well 
without, if we would only make up our minds that what we 
already had “ would do, somehow.” But, why talk of philoso- 
phy ? Who hopes to teach it ? who expects to make the world 
one whit wiser than it is ? who expects, by precept or practice, 
to restrain one act of folly ? who supposes that any reasoning 
or teaching will make men cultivate true happiness, instead of 
seeking for honor and glory, wealth, vanity, and vexation of 
spirit ? 

“ ’Tis a mad world, my masters !” Ay, and so it will con- 
tinue till its end, despite of all that Wisdom may strive to teach 
it to the contrary. 

The town in which the Cranks lived was a large one, but not 
large enough to be free from the gossip of a country town. 
Everybody knew everybody, and, what was worse, every- 
body’s business. Even so humble and insignificant a person- 


PEG TODD MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 


169 


age as Peg could not escape remarks. Who was she ? where 
did she come from ? how did the Cranks get her ? Such were 
a few of the questions which the neighbors of Mr. and Mrs. 
Crank were fond of asking. 

They would have been very clever indeed to have got much 
out of Peg in the way of information ; for her long habit of 
silence, coupled with her present desire of concealment, quite 
closed her lips. She felt inwardly convinced that if ever Wea- 
zel fell in with her, he would pounce upon her, and carry her 
off as remorselessly as a hawk does a tomtit or a field-mouse. 
She even avoided all the little men whose faces she could not 
see, and whose build resembled that of her former master. 
When she had been a month or two in her situation, she had 
one day a great fright. 

She was walking, or rather struggling along with Master 
Bobby and baby, when she was accosted by a man in an uni 
form which she at first took to be that of a policeman, but saw 
afterwards that it was much smarter. The man who spoke to 
her was, in fact, a railway guard. He was a very tall man, 
and Peg remembered him at once as IMr. Peck — the elder 
brother of our friend Job — whom she had seen several times 
at Weazefs house. 

“ Holloa! little one. Why, you're Mr. Weazel’s little servant, 
ain’t you asked Mr. Peck, in a cheery, good-natured voice. 

“ No, 1 ain’t,” said Peg, doggedly, but feeling dreadfully 
frightened. 

“ Well, you used to be then, eh continued Peck. 

“ No, I usedn’t — I never heerd of such a person,” said Peg. 

“ Oh, oh 1” cried Peck, “ I’m afraid you tell stories, my lit- 
tle wench ; but you needn't be afraid of me — 1 wouldn’t hurt 
you. Lord love you 1 And if you’ve run away from him, I 
won’t tell, 1 promise you.” 

“Won’t you really V" asked Peg, with a look of cunning 
anxiety, but forgetting that her very question was letting out 
her secret. 


170 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOI). 


“ No, I won% upon honor,” said Peck. “ Here, little man, 
let’s see if we can’t get a cake,” he continued, addressing Mas- 
ter Bobby, whose friendship was marketable on such terms, 
and who at once conceived a high regard for Mr. Peck. 

So Peg suffered Mr. Peck to accompany her, and even volun- 
teered her story of her escape from Weazel’s house, nnd ihe 
accident that brought her to the town where they then wtu’c'. 
In return for this confidence, Mr. Peck, as simple-heurti d as 
any child himself, told her of his own promotion on the rail wa v 
from porter to guard, which accounted for his being in tiiat 
place, and habited in that uniform. 

“ Pm afraid Mr. Weazel pretty nigh starved you. Peg, didn’t 
he ?” he asked, kindly. 

“ That he did, drat him !” cried Peg, energetically. “ He’ll 
come to a bad end, he will.” 

Peck smiled at the child’s energy. 

“ Do you know that he’s a much richer man now than he 
was ?” said Peck. “ Did you ever hear of Mr. Littlegood ?” 

“ No,” answered Peg, “ I never heerd of no one but you.” 

“ Well, all about it is that Mr. Littlegood had a lot of money, 
and Weazel has contrived to get it all away from him for a 
man named Bennoch ; and Bennoch let Weazel have a good 
share of it for his trouble.” 

Mr. Peck made himself so agreeable, that Peg never remarked 
that she was close to home, till they were actually before Mr. 
Crank’s door. When she informed Peck that this was her 
home, he suggested that he would come inside with her, and 
just pay his respects to her master and mistress, for he kindl}" 
thought it might do the girl some good if her employers saw 
that she was not altogether friendless. So he did step in, and 
Mrs. Crank became very friendly, and Mr. Crank thought that 
Mr. Peck “would do” very well indeed; and finding that he 
did not leave the town till next morning, they insisted that he 
should come and take some tea with them in the evening. 

Peck accepted the invitation, and during the evening became 


PEG TODD MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. I71 

quite confidential with his entertainers, Mr. Crank talking very- 
little, but his wife fully making up for his taciturnity, by dis- 
cussing everything from politics to babies. Certainly, she was 
more au fait at the latter subject than the former, and gave 
Mr. Peck a great many valuable hints as to the rearing of in- 
fants, which, however, would doubtless have been rejected with 
scorn by Mrs. Peck, who had six children, while Mrs. Crank 
had only two ; and the degree of compassionate contempt which 
a lady with half-a-dozen children treats the opinions of another 
who has a less number is well known. 

At length the conversation turned on Peg Todd. 

“ She’s not a bad girl, but she certainly is one of the queer- 
est I ever met with,” remarked Mrs. Crank. 

“ Oh, she’ll do,” observed her husband. 

Mrs. Crank smiled, and went on : 

“ She’s behaved quite well, though it was rather venturesome 
of us to take her without a character. 1 can’t help thinking 
that she’s run away from somewhere ; but I daresay she was 
ill-treated, for she ain’t a bad girl, as I said, though she certain- 
ly can’t boil a potato.” 

“ She was badly treated — half-starved a’most,” said Peck. 
“ That Weazel was the stingiest fellow ever I saw.” 

Weazel !” said Mrs. Crank, catching at the name. “ That 
was her j^naster’s name, was it 

Peck saw that he had let out more than he meant. 

“ I was only thinking what a very strange name it is ; I never 
heard of such a name before.” 

“ I don’t know as ever / did,” replied Peck. 

“/did,” said Mr. Crank, to the surprise of his wife; for he 
seldom made a remark unless actually appealed to. 

“ W here, Tom asked his wife. 

“ Here,” answered Crank. 

“ Well, I can’t say I know anybody of the name in this 
place,” said his wife. 

“ He don’t belong here,” replied Crank, “ he came from 
London on business.” 


172 


LORIMEE LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Oh, parish business, I suppose V* 

“ Yes ; he wanted to see a certificate of a marriage that he’d 
got a copy of.” 

Peck listened attentively. 

“ Do you happen to remember the name of the parties ?” he 
asked. 

“ Yes ; Bennoch was one.” 

“ That’s it,” said Peck ; “ did he find it 

“ No, that’s why I recollect him so well. It was very odd, 
but the leaf where the original certificate was entered was torn 
out.” 

“ What do you think about that ?” asked Peck. 

“ Nothing ; I told him the copy would do,” answered Crank. 

“ Do you think there could be any roguery in it all ?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ If there was I wouldn’t mind betting half a year’s salary 
that Weazel was at the bottom of it — he’s a big rogue, I do 
believe. That copy of the certificate robbed a noble gentleman 
of his property, and gave it to a drunken rascal — who’s dead 
now, though, so I ought not to call him names. And Weazel 
himself got a slice. There’s roguery, you may rely on it.” 

“ I daresay,” answered Mr. Crank, not much moved by what 
did not concern him. “ That W eazel ” 

“ Oh !” cried Peg, entering the room at the moment, and 
hearing the name. 

“ Don’t be afraid. Peg,” cried Mr. Peck. “ Your good 
master and mistress won’t think the worse of you for running 
away from that fellow.” 

And the Cranks joined their assurances to his, and Mr. Peck 
bid them good evening and promised to call on another of his 
journeys, and he went away with his good heart and his thick 
head full of kind feelings and indistinct ideas of something 
wrong touching Weazel’s visit to the town, and with a deter- 
mination not to let the matter rest as it was. 


LORIMER SEEKS A SITUATION. 


113 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

LORIMER SEEKS A SITUATION. 

When Lorimer Littlegood made up his mind to get a living 
by the sweat of his brow, he had little idea of the difficulties 
he was destined to encounter. Of all helpless beings in this 
civilized world of ours, there is none so completely helpless as 
the well-educated, gentleman-like young man without a pro- 
fession. He cannot dig and he is ashamed to beg. But even 
if he could dig, it would not much help him, and although beg- 
ging used to be rather a profitable species of calling, mendicity 
societies and policemen have considerably spoiled the trade of 
late. Besides which, you require a sick wife and seven chil 
dren, a cadaverous visage and a scarecrow figure, to prosper 
as a genteel beggar, and Lorimer possessed none of these nat- 
ural advantages, nor had he learned the art of manufacturing 
them for the occasion. Certainly he had plenty of friends — 
men who had eaten his dinners, drank his wines, ridden his 
horses, borrowed his money and forgotten to repay it — excel- 
lent fellows all, who were troubled with near-sightedness when 
Lorimer next appeared in town without the dinners, the horses, 
or the money. If by accident they did see him, it would have 
done the philanthropist good to hear the warmth with which 
they expressed their sympathy for his misfortunes. And even 
behind his back they all declared that he was a capital fellow, 
— they were deucedly sorry, — it was a confounded shame, — 
such a good-natured chap as he was, too, — and so forth. But 
somehow or other, not one of them ever came forward and 
offered Lorimer the slightest assistance ; not one of them ever 
12 


m ^ 


littlego6d. 


volunteered his time, his interest, his experience, and far less 
his money, to aid him in obtaining what they all knew he re- 
quired, the means of existence. And yet we are not quite 
correct in saying this, for one man positively offered to lend 
him money if he required it ; but added, that at that particular 
moment he really had not a sovereign he could command. 
Another said that Lorimer might command any interest which 
he had ; but it turned out that he had none on earth ; while a 
third said that his time was at Lorimer’s service, excepting, 
that he was engaged every day from ten till four in duties that 
he could not neglect, and started off every afternoon at the 
latter hour for his villa at Richmond. 

So that, really, it was a mere unfortunate connexion of cir- 
cumstances that prevented these benevolent friends from aiding 
Lorimer, and no one could impute want of feeling to men who 
so fairly came forward to offer — what they had not got. 

Bidding adieu at length (but not till after many a heartache 
of disappointment) to visions of “appointments,” obtained 
through friendly and influential interest, Lorimer began to 
look steadily to the fact that he could rely on no human being 
but himself ; and himself he found a very fragile reed to lean 
upon. He tried all the usual resources of answering advertise- 
ments and advertising himself till he was weary of them. 

Walking one day about town in that vague and purpose- 
less manner which is natural to men hoping for “ something to 
turn up,” his eye lighted on a couple of wire-gauze window 
blinds, on which were inscribed, “ Clerical, scholastic, medical, 
professional, and general agency office.” 

“ Comprehensive enough !” thought Lorimer. “ ‘ Clerical, 
scholastic, medical, professional and general.’ I should have 
thought the last word would have done without the rest, but 
certainly it would not have looked or sounded so imposing. I 
wonder what the agency consists of — what sort of business 
they transact. It is just possible they might serve my purpose ; 
at all events. I’ll try.” 


LORIMEK SEEKS A SITUATION. 


175 


Saying or thinking which, Lorimer walked into the open 
doorway, turned the handle of a door on which was inscribed 
‘‘ office,” and beheld a small boy seated on the top of a very 
tall stool before an extremely red-looking mahogany desk. 
The small boy, who had evidently been doing nothing at all, 
grasped a pen as Lorimer entered the door and plunged it into 
the ink ; but was slightly puzzled to know what next to do, as 
there was not a particle of paper on the desk before him. 

“ Ahem !” said Lorimer, to make the little imp look round. 

“ What do you please to want ?” asked the latter. 

“ Is the manager of this office in inquired Lorimer. 

“ No, he ain’t,” answered the boy. 

“ When do you expect him V* asked Lorimer. 

“ I don’t expect him, ’cos I never see him,” replied the imp. 

What do you mean ! Whose office is this V said Lorimer. 

“ Mr. Muggins’s.” 

“ Is he in then 

‘‘ Yes ; he’s allers in,” was the reply. 

‘‘Tell him that I should like to see him, then,” said Lorimer, 

“ What’s your name, please 

“Mr. Littlegood.” 

“Walker!” cried the small boy, grinning. 

“ What do you mean, you little rascal cried Lorimer. 

“ None of your chaff,” said the little one,.looking very know- 
ing. “ That ain’t your name, Mr. Little , oh, my 1” and 

the imp began to laugh as if he had discovered a capital joke. 

Lorimer leant forward and caught him by the ear, at which 
the little wretch made a wry face and seemed disposed to yell. 

“ If you don’t go and tell your master I want to see him. I’ll 
pull your ear off, that’s all,” said Lorimer. 

“I’ll go,” answered the boy; and happy to have his ear re- 
leased, he rushed to a small back room, from whence he imme- 
diately returned, saying, “ Come in, please.” 

Lorimer entered the room, and at a small writing-table be- 
held a tall, hatchet-faced, cadaverous, half-clerical looking man, 
dressed in solemn black, who made a polite bow to him. 


17G 


XCnfti^ER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ I beg your pardon for intruding on you,” said Lorimer, 
“ without being at all certain whether you can be of any ser- 
vice to me ; but I see that yours is an agency office ” 

“ Clerical, scholastic, medical, professional, and general,” said 
the grave man. 

“ Exactly so,” said Lorimer ; “ and, as I am in want of em- 
ployment, I thought I might ask you whether pi ocuring it forms 
any part of your agency V* 

“ Preliminary fee, five shillings,” said the grave man. 

“ I beg your pardon,” answered Lorimer, and he produced 
the required sum, which the grave man quietly slipped into his 
pocket, and said, — 

“ May I ask to which profession you belong 

“ To none, I am sorry to say,” answered Lorimer. 

The grave man’s hatchet face remained quite impassive. 

“ What is the nature of the employment you wish to ob- 
tain asked he. 

“ Upon my word I can hardly tell you, nor do I much care 
what it is,” was Lorimer’s answer, “ so long as I can live by 
it.” 

“ Can you write ?” asked Mr. Muggins. 

“ I am a graduate of Oxford,” answered Lorimer, smiling 
and amused. 

“ I asked if you can write,” observed the grave man, wait- 
ing for a reply. 

“ Oh, I see ; you mean can I write — as an author, I sup- 
pose ?” asked Lorimer. 

“ I mean simply what I say — can you write 1 lam not talk- 
ing about authorship at all.” 

“ When I told you I was a graduate of Oxford, I should have 
thought you need not have repeated the question,” replied Lori- 
mer, not at all annoyed, but rather surprised, at the “ charac- 
ter” before him. 

“ Not at all,” returned Mr. Muggins, “ graduates of Oxford 
are plentiful enough, but the proportion of those who can write 
(at least a hand that anybody can read) is very small.” 


LORIMER SEEKS A SITUATION. 


177 


Lorimer smiled. 

“ You must be good enough, if you please,” said Mr. Mug- 
gins, “ to retire home, and forward me a written application 
for employment, stating the nature of it as well as you are 
able.” 

“ And do you think you will have any chance of procuring 
it for me *?” asked Lorimer. 

“ I am a clerical, scholastic, medical, professional, and gen- 
eral agent, and not a dealer in chance,” said Mr. Muggins, 
gravely. 

“ Upon my word, I did not mean to offend you,” returned 
Lorimer. “ I merely wished to know whether I might hope for 
a situation of some kind or other.” 

“ You have paid me the preliminary fee,” replied Mr. Mug- 
gins. “ You will have employment within a fortnight, and you 
will thereupon have to give me an undertaking to pay me half 
of your first month’s salary.” 

“ J shall be very happy to do so,” answ^ered Lorimer. 

“ No, you won’t; you think you’ll be very happy to do it 
now, but when you get into the situation you will speak of me 
as a humbug and a nuisance ; but still you me, because 

1 shall make it legally binding, and because I think you look 
honest. Good day, sir,” and he bowed Lorimer out. 

‘‘Well!” thought Lorimer, “of all the queer sticks I ever 
met, that is one of the oddest. However, he speaks very posi- 
tively of getting me employment, and therefore decidedly I’ll 
write him a letter.” 

When he reached the economical apartments he had taken, 
in lieu of the St. James’s-place ones, he sat down and wrote as 
folio w's : — 

“ Sir, — I am, as I informed you this morning, a graduate of 
the University of Oxford, and w^as possessed of an independent 
property, of w^hich the result of a lawsuit has deprived me. I 
i*tii now, therefore, in urgent want of some employment where- 


178 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 

in my education and attainments may be of service, and by 
which 1 may earn a moderate subsistence. If you can assist 
me in this, I shall be truly obliged to you, and most happy to 
make you any recompense in my power. 

“ I am, &c.” 

When Mr. Muggins received this letter he said — 

Ah, not a bad hand ; a gentleman, quite unbusinesslike — 
couldn’t keep books — I know exactly what will suit him. The 
professor’s the man for himP 

And then Mr. Muggins folded and ticketed the letter, and 
put it in the unanswered drawer of his writing-table. 

He let it remain there purposely for ten days, at the expira- 
tion of which time Lorimer received a formal note requesting 
his attendance next day at eleven o’clock, at the “ Clerical, 
scholastic, medical, professional, and general agency office.” 

Mr. Muggins received him in the same impassive manner as 
before. 

“ Do you know anything of conjuring asked that gentle- 
man in the gravest manner. 

“ I really do not,’’ said Lorimer, laughing at the strange- 
ness of the question. 

“You don’t entertain any particular repugnance to the art, I 
presume asked Mr. Muggins. 

“ Really, 1 have never troubled my head about it,” answered 
Lorimer. 

“ Ah ! exactly so,” responded Mr. Muggins. “ Well, I am 
going to give you an introduction to Professor Dabskin, the 
celebrated conjuror, who is in want of a secretary.” 

“ A Secretary !” exclaimed Lorimer, puzzled to know what 
a conjuror could want with such an animal. 

“Yes, you wonder for what purpose, I presume?” 

“Indeed, I do,” was Lorimer’s answer. 

“ Well, you see,” said Mr. Muggins, with his usual gravity, 
“ the profespor receives about thirty or forty letters every day, 


LORIMER SEEKS A SITUATION. 179 

and being able to read them, far less to answer them, he 
naturally requires assistance for that purpose.” 

“ I suppose you mean that he has no time to read them him- 
self,” suggested Lorimer. 

“ No I don’t,” answered Mr. Muggins, “ I always mean 
what I say. I mean that the professor cavUi read them because 
he cannot write or read written characters ; but he’s a very 
clever fellow, for all that.” 

“ How very odd !” exclaimed Lorimer, “ I should have 
thought it would have been worth his while to learn.” 

“ Not at all,” replied Muggins ; “ few things pay so badly 
as reading and writing. Singing and standing on your head, 
dancing on the tight-rope, putting your head into a tame lion’s 
mouth, juggling and telling lies — all these things are much 
more profitable in our enlightened times than reading and 
writing ; and we should not be such fools as to study the lat- 
ter at all if, as in the case of the professor, our parents (though 
he never had any, I believe) had omitted to have us instructed 
in them in our days of childhood. But here is the profes- 
sor’s address ; when you have seen him, if terms are arranged 
between you, call here and settle with me. Good day, sir 
and again he bowed Lorimer out. 

The latter found himself almost at the professor’s door before 
he began to think of the strangeness of his errand. Secretary 
to a mountebank ! bah, what’s in a name 1 a professor ! why 
not a professor? If all the professors who deserved the name 
of mountebank were so called, what a clearance would there be 
in learned halls and ancient colleges, and how much conserva- 
tive veneration would be lost to an admiring world ! 


180 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

PROFESSOR DABSKIN. 

Reaching the house to which his letter of introduction was 
directed, Lorimer knocked at the door, and was admitted by a 
page in the lightest and brightest of blue liveries, and with the 
largest eruption of silver buttons ever before beheld on a single 
boy. Indeed, it seemed as if he had been pelted with buttons, 
which had all stuck to him. 

“ Is Professor Dabskin at home 

“ Yes, sir ; what name, sir 1” 

“ Take him this letter — stay, though — he can’t read it,’’ 
thought Lorimer ; “ why the deuce did Muggins give me a let- 
ter of introduction to a man who can’t read 'I Say, Mr. Little- 
good,” he continued, to the page. 

“ Yes, sir ; this way, sir,” and conducting him up stairs, he 
ushered him into a small boudoir, where a man was lying on 
a sofa smoking a meerschaum. 

“ Mr. Littlegood !” cried the page. 

The professor, who was habited in a gorgeous, parti-colored, 
silk dressing-gown, rose from the sofa, and made a profound 
bow. 

“ I brought this letter from Mr. Muggins,” said Lorimer, 
producing it. 

“ Will you have the goodness to read it out to me while 1 
continue smoking said the professor. 

“With pleasure,” answ^ered Lorimer, repressing a smile; 
and he read the letter, which merely introduced and recom- 
mended himself as a fit person to be secretary to the professor. 


PKOFESSOR DABSKIN? 181 

“ Did Mr. Muggins tell you the sort of thing I want?” asked 
the professor. ^ 

“ Not exactly,” replied Lorimer ; but I believe you wish 
some one to manage your correspondence, as your own time is 
too much occupied with other matters — is it not so ?” 

“ Well, it’s very polite of you to say so, but we may as well 
understand one another downright. Are you agreeable to be 
my secretary at a hundred pounds a year, besides board and 
lodging ?” 

“ Really,” said Lorimer, “ you’re very kind. I shall be most 
happy — that is, if I understand what I am to do.” 

Of course you don't understand ; but I’m going to tell you 
all about it. Only look here ; if you won’t agree when you’ve 
been told what it is, of course it’s all mum, eh ?” and the pro- 
fessor laid his finger on his lip. 

‘‘ Certainly,” said Lorimer. 

“ Secrets in every trade, you know, and you mustn’t split if 
I let you into some of mine.” 

“ 1 shall always act consistently with honor, I hope,” said 
Lorimer. 

I haven’t much opinion of honor,” answered the professor. 
“ Honesty’s plain enough ; it means no picking and stealing, or 
lying and slandering; but honor is a fanciful sort of thing, 
and means anything, from blowing out your friend’s brains to 
hiding his roguery.” 

“ The professor’s an original,” thought Lorimer. 

“You may smile, but that’s my opinion,” said the professor, 
“ and I’m a plain man. Still I don’t see why all the secrets of 
my art should be made known by my secretary, and that’s 
why I say it’ll be all mum if we don’t agree.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Well, then, first of all I want a man that can write well, tc 
answer my letters ; then I want him to know outlandish 
tongues, so as to give out-and-out names to new tricks of 
mine ; then I want him to be able to knock off a little poetry 


182 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


for puffs and advertisements ; then I should like him to be able 
to draw a bit, so as to give a picture now and then ; then I 
want him 'to be shot at, and to be mesmerized, and to be a 
medium, and everything else — do you understand 

“ 1 think I do,” answered Lorimer. 

“ Are you agreeable to join me then 

“ Yes.” 

“ Very well then ; come to-morrow, and next day we’ll be 
off.” 

“ Are you going out of town,” asked Lorimer. 

“ To be sure. I never stay long at one place. As soon as 
you’ve made a great hit, and astonished everybody, move on, 
or else you’ll have some fellows coming and watching every 
night, and finding out your tricks.” 

“ Does that ever happen ?” asked Lorimer. 

“ Often enough,” answered the professor ; “ why, there’s my 
celebrated trick that used to be, where I changed the lady’s 
handkerchief into the Guinea pigs, every common fellow has 
got hold of it now, through a chap watching me, and dodging 
me all over the country till he found cut the secret.” 

“ Very provoking, certainly.” 

“You may say that, robbing you of your invention, the 
efforts of your genius. Perhaps you don’t think there’s much 
genius wanted to be a magician ; but you’re mistaken. I’m not 
a learned man ; to tell the plain truth, I can hardly write at 
all, but I mean to say that I’ve as good a head as any of those 
that have been educated into lawyers and doctors. They’re all 
taught ; now you can’t teach a man to be a wizard, he must 
have a natural genius for it, and that’s just what I flatter myself 
I have.” 

Lorimer bowed acquiescence in what he could not possibly 
dispute. 

“ There’s no knowing,” continued the professor, “ how you 
may turn out yourself. You may have a natural talent for it 
yourself, and if so, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t culti* 


PROFESSOK DABSKIN. 


183 


vate it; but if you think, as soon as you’ve found out one or 
two of my tricks, that you’re a made wizard, you’ll find your 
self mistaken, that’s all.” 

Lorimer now prepared to depart. 

By-the-bye, Mr. Little ” 

“ Littlegood.” 

“ Mr. Littlegood, do you happen to know all the foreign 
orders of knighthood, the names of them, I mean 

“ Not all,” answered Lorimer ; “ but some of them, I can 
remember.” 

“ Well, just try and be well up in them, because I’m going 
to belong to several of them !” 

“ How so 1” asked Lorimer. 

“ Why, you see, the Emperor of Austria conferred the Order 
of the Black Donkey on me when 1 astounded himself and all 
his Court at Potsdam ; and the King of Siam made me a 
Knight of the Golden Eleece when I exhibited before him in 
Nova Scotia, and so on, don’t you see ? Only it’s as well to 
have the names correct, and I suppose I’m a little bit out in 
those I just hit on, ain’t I ?” 

Rather,” said Lorimer, laughing. 

“Ah, well, have ’em all right when you come to-morrow, 
and we won’t make any mistakes. Come to dinner if you can, 
at six, and we’ll talk things over.” 

When Lorimer left the house, he began to consider the step 
he was going to take — secretary to this professor, who was 
apparently as great a humbug as could well be. But, after all, 
there was some fascination in the fun of the thing ; he should 
“ see life” in a new phase, and if he got disgusted with it, he 
could but throw it up. Meantime, a hundred a year was not 
to be lightly rejected. 

Before finally joining the professor, he determined to pay a 
farewell visit to his mother and sister ; so he took a ticket for 
his native village at once. 

It was school-time when he arrived, and Jessie was busy in 


184 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


her new duties. She had collected about a dozen pupils, and 
might be said to have made a most prosperous start. As a 
great favor, Lorimer was admitted to the school-room ; but he 
was told that he must not stay there above a minute, as the 
mammas of the elder girls would no doubt consider it highly 
reprehensible that their daughters should be exposed to the 
fascinations of a penniless, good-looking, moustachioed, young 
gentleman. 

So Lorimer had to be alone for some time with his mother, 
till the hour arrived for Jessie to dismiss her pupils for the 
day. 

“Well, Jessie, dear, and how do you like teaching?” asked 
Lorimer. 

“ Very much,” she answered, “because I believe I can do it 
pretty well, and I feel it will support us.” 

“ Then I suppose for the same reasons I ought to like my 
new situation,” said her brother. 

“ Yours % have you indeed got one ? I am delighted ; what 
is it, my dear boy ?” 

“ Secretary to a professor.” 

“ Delightful ! what is he a professor of? Chemistry ? astron- 
omy ? languages ?” she asked. 

“Now, my dear Jessie,” said Lorimer, “do you think that 
a professor of chemistry, astronomy, languages, or anything 
that was really needful and intellectual could afford to keep a 
secretary ?” 

“ But what then do you mean ?” she exclaimed. 

“ My professor,” answered Lorimer, “ is a professor of 
magic, a wizard, a mesmerizer, a great man, too, on whom I 
am going to confer half the orders of knighthood in Europe.” 

“ You are joking ; what can you really mean ?” 

“ Exactly what I say. I am engaged at a salary of a hun- 
dred a year, and board and lodging, as factotum to a mounte- 
bank.” 

“ Oh ! you will not really go to him ?” said Jessie. 


PROFESSOR DABSKIN. 


185 


“ Indeed, I shall. I always liked seeing life, you know,” he 
said, with a smile at his sister, “ and now 1 really think I shall 
see a new, and rather comic, phase of it.” 

“ But is it respectable 

“ Not a bit of it, as flir from respectability as it can be, and 
that’s the greatest charm about it. If the professor were in the 
least degree a respectable man, I couldn’t go to him ; but I’u 
certain he’s the greatest humbug on the face of the earth, 
don’t suppose he ever had a father and mother ; he can’t 
write, and can scarcely read, and he can tell more lies in five 
minutes than you or I could invent in a year. Oh, no, he’s 
not in the remotest degree respectable, and so I like him.” 

“ Will you not suffer in character yourself by being asso- 
ciated with him 

“ Not at all. I’ve my own plans, and I mean to carry them 
out. I am quite determined to go to the professor, so don’t 
try to persuade me otherwise.” 

Jessie half smiled and half sighed, but she said no more. 

Next day there was a loving farewell between mother and 
sister and brother, and Lorimer hastened back to London to 
join the professor at dinner. 

Mr. Dabskin was expecting him^ and greeted him cordially. 


186 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD’ 


CHAPTER XXV. 

PROFESSOR DABSKIn’s PHILOSOPHY. 

Mr. Dabskin, professor of legerdemain in all its branches, 
was a perfect Sybarite in his style of living. Money flowed 
so plentifully into his coffers, that he had long ago lost the 
habit of reckoning the cost of anything that took his fancy, 
from a waistcoat to an equipage. Especially did he like to 
live well, and was always attended by his own French cook, 
lest the cuisine of the hotels he frequented, in his tours through 
the country should be ill-supplied — as in the truth they usually 
are. Professor Dabskin would as soon have thought of dining 
on one of the plum-puddings made by himself in the hat bor- 
rowed from the accommodating gentlemen in the pit, as on the 
inevitable chops and tomato sauce, or underdone steak and 
oyster ditto, of every country inn. Time had been, it was 
whispered, when the professor would have been delighted to 
get the worst cooked chop in the kingdom for his dinner, with 
no other sauce than the voracious appetite of a half-starved 
youth ; when he would linger near the savoury odors of a 
cook’s shop, aggravating the hunger he had not the means of 
satisfying. But those days had long since passed away, and 
the professor had forgotten them — even as Alderman Truffles, 
at a Lord Mayor’s feast, forgets the hour when, as errand boy 
at three shillings a-week, he invested the carefully saved penny 
in the luxury of a Saturday -night polony. Pain and poverty 
are soon forgotten in pleasure and profusion. 

And, now that we are on the subject of cookery, let us ask 
a simple question —how comes it that we English are f>o far 


DABSKIN’S PHILOSOPHY. 


187 


behind, not only our French neighbors (allies, is the right 
word just now, we believe), but almost all the other civilized 
nations of the world ? A dozen answers will be given in a 
moment, but they will all be unsatisfactory. Some people 
will tell us that our meats and our vegetables are so good, that 
they do not need the adventitious aids of a clever cook •, but 
he who has vainly endeavored scores of times “ to digest, with 
many a throe (as Pelham hath it), the tough sinews of a Brit- 
ish beef-steak,” will know that the excuse is absurd. We 
might as well say that because our coal mines and iron ores 
are superlative, we need not trouble ourselves to manufacture 
the finest cutlery by their means. Others will declare that 
we prefer English cookery because it is more wholesome — as 
if indigestion and other unnameable inconveniences, arising 
from our savage cuisine^ were conducive to health. Others, 
again, will boldly declare that English cookery is better, more 
agreeable, more appetizing, than French. It would be as hope- 
less to reason with this last class, as to attempt to persuade a 
cannibal that human flesh is not nicer than beef, or to convince 
an Abyssinian that raw steaks, cut from a living ox, are, gas- 
tronomically, a decided mistake. Taking the fact for granted, 
that we are bad cooks, shall we lay the fault on our want of 
taste or our want of invention ? It is a little galling to our 
national vanity to own it, but we fear we must admit that it 
arises partly from both defects. Our taste in trifles (we call 
cookery a trifle by way of salve to the vanity aforesaid), is 
not at all equal to that of our allies, and our invention is vast- 
ly inferior to theirs. Novelty of any kind, unless borrowed 
from over the water, is the rarest thing in sensible, solid, stolid 
old England. Evejn when we see, hear, or taste a novelty, it 
takes us a long time to make up our minds whether we like it 
or not. It would be worn out in Paris before we had quite 
determined in London whether we approved of it. And so 
we stick to huge sirloins, and awfully real-looking legs of mut- 
ton, with a few thick, black, heavy “ made-dishes,” from gen- 


188 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


eration to generation, and know not the endless variety of de- 
licious entrees and delicate entremets^ which are “ household 
words” in la belle France, 

Professor Dabskin, like a sensible man, preferred French 
cookery to English, and fed on dishes whose flavor he 
thoroughly appreciated, though he knew not their names any 
more than their contents. 

“ There’s the bill of fare,” said he, pushing the carte over to 
Lorimer, “ if you know the meanings of the names, as I dare 
say you do. I dorCt ; but I know most of the dishes by sight, 
and if I come across a new one, my nose generally tells me 
whether I shall like it, before a morsel of it has passed my 
lips. My cook generally hits my palate pretty well.” 

That’s not extraordinary,” said Lorimer, “ if everything 
he makes is as good as this potage d la Bisque,^'* 

“Are you a judge?” asked the professor. 

“ I fancy so,” replied Lorimer. 

“ That’s right. 1 hate a man who can^t appreciate good 
cooking. When a fellow tells me he can dine as well on a 
chop as on anything else, I always think him a fool — besides 
considering that he’s robbing and insulting me. What the 
deuce does he come and dine with me for ?” 

“ 1 suppose you have been a great deal on the Continent ?” 
asked Lorimer. 

“ Never crossed the English Channel,” answered Dabskin. 

“But the foreign orders of knighthood?” said Lorimer, in- 
terrogatively. 

“ Ha ! ha ! very good — you’re fond of a joke I see ;” said 
the professor. “ Will you try another glass of Madeira? No ? 
quite right : more than one glass is a mistake ; and that should 
only be taken immediately after soup — the finest wine in the 
world then^ but worth nothing at any other time, except per- 
haps with a little pate for lunch.” I 

“ This hock is really excellent,” said Lorimer. 

“ Yes — very good — the real ‘ blue seal.’ Prince What’s-his* 
name, that it all belongs to ” 


dadSkiit’S philosophy. 


189 


“ Mettcrnich,” sug^*ested Lorimer. 

Yes, that’s the man — he sent me over a lot of it when his 
master, the Sultan of Borneo ” 

Lorimer burst out laughing. 

Ha ! ha !” cried the professor, joining in the laugh ; “ I 
fr.rgot who I was talking to. However, the wine is as good as 
any old what’s-his-name could have sent me, and stands me in 
about a guinea a bottle.” 

“ Tve no doubt of it,” answered Lorimer, “ for I’ve paid as 
much for a less good vintage myself.” 

“ You ! — oh — ah — yes — I forgot. I think I heard you spent 
a lot of money. Great mistake, by-the-bye, to spend it when 
you havn’t got plenty. Besides which, any fool can sjpend 
money ; but it’s not so easy to make it. And yet, you much 
oflener hear men boast of the former.” ^ 

“ You are a shrew^d observer of human nature,” said Lori- 
mer, “ I should imagine 1” 

“ How the deuce could I have got on in the world if 1 had 
not been ?” responded the professor. “ My dear sir, it is not 
learning, or cleverness, or anything of that kind that makes 
your successful men ; it’s knowdedge of the world — knowledge 
of the wmrld’s stupidity, and how' to take advantage of it. What 
does the man in the play say ? something about the world being 
an oyster. So it is — just as hard, and rough, and stupid too, as 
the outside of an oyster ; but it isn’t every one that know^s how 
to open it, and get at the delicate morsels it contains. If you 
push away ever so hard in the wrong place, you can’t manage it, 
though you may cut your own fingers ; and if you bring too 
sharp a knife to the work, you’ll only blunt the edge and get no 
good ; but if you go to work with an instrument that’s not easily 
damaged, look about keenly, till you see the right place — then 
slip it in — the least twist and there you are. You’ve opened your 
oyster — made your, fortune — and it’s very pleasant w^hen you 
\ave done it.” 

Whatever might be the moral character of the professor, it 


190 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


was perfectly clear to Lorimer that he was no fool. Indeed, 
Lorimer was half inclined to think that he was, probably, a 
little too clever — that is to say, that his wit was rather too 
large in proportion to his moral sentiments. Not an uncom- 
mon fault this, though by no means so general as the world sup- 
poses. He that lives by his wits has as bad a name as any 
dog ; and, therefore, society is quite ready to gibbet him when 
it gets a chance. Perhaps, after all, he is far more to be pitied 
than condemned ; but, then, pity is a god-like quality, and 
there is nothing god-like about society. Respectability, that is 
to say, jogging along old beaten tracks, paying your debts, and 
doing nothing that can be suspected of talent, greatness, or out- 
of-the-way goodness — this respectability is all that society 
cares for. If you infringe it, you are tabooed : you are either 
condemned as unfit for association, if you don’t keep up to its 
eternal low water mark, or you are avoided as a dangerous in- 
novator if you rise above it. In the estimation of society — 
we speak of nineteen-twentieths of people of the world — there 
are three orders : the respectables, the adventurers, the rogues. 
The two last are supposed to be so nearly allied, that it is dif- 
ficult to make a proper distinction between them: so society 
gives up the task, and shuts them both out of her circle. 

Whether Professor Dabskin, who was a perfect Pariah in 
the eyes of society, deserved its condemnation will, doubtless, 
appear to the intelligent reader as we progress. Don’t let it 
be supposed that we have been writing a defence, or apology, 
for him. Our remarks are general, and only suggested by the 
professor's po.^ ition. In truth, there is nothing so difficult for a 
story- writer t< avoid, as a tendency to jump aside from the 
current of the tale, and enter into quiet little discussions touch- 
ing morals and manners. We have good authority for so 
Moing in Smollett and Fielding, who usually devoted a long 
chapter at the commencement of each volume or “book” Oi 
their stories, to a pleasant digression. W e have no Fieldings and 
Smollets in these latter days, though v/^e have one novelist who 


DABSKIN’S PUILOSOPIIY. 


191 


surpasses either (may he soon return from Cousin Jonathan to 
instruct and delight us again !) yet we are all moralists, or we 
are nothing. We don’t all write “with a purpose” — that hack- 
neyed phrase adopted by the dull to cover the paucity of their 
invention — but if we paint life as it is, surely our pen-and-ink 
pictures point a moral without the necessity of its being con- 
stantly thrust under the reader’s nose, or of our proclaiming 
it by sound of trumpet. Indeed we always regard authors, 
who cry out “ behold — this is my moral !” as in the position 
of those primitive painters who wrote, “ this is a horse” and 
“ this is a man” under their figures, well aware that there was 
a chance of nobody finding out what the figures were intended 
to represent, unless specially informed of the fact. 

In the course of the evening, Lorimer asked the professor 
where he proposed giving his entertainment next. Dabskin re- 
plied that he w^as oil’ to Stumpington to-morrow afternoon, and 
would, of course, require Lorimer to accompany him. 

“ Are there any peculiar instructions that 1 ought to be ac^ 
quainted with before starting suggested Lorimer. 

“ No — none in particular,” answered Dabskin. “ All you 
have to attend to, is to do exactly what I tell you.” 

“ But how can you tell me in the presence of an audience 

“Very well. 1 can whisper, if there be any necessity ; or 
I can say it outright.” 

“ But won’t that spoil the trick ?” 

“ Not a bit of it : suppose, for instance, I mesmerize you. 
You sit down in a chair — I tell you the position in which to 
place yourself — then I make a few passes; then I say, “ Ladies 
and gentlemen, the patient is now completely under my in- 
fluence; he can hear and understand what I say, but he cannot 
move or speak, except as I will him ” — and so on. Don’t you 
see that you are getting your instructions w'hile I am talking 
to the audience only 1” 

“ Cannot you really mesmerize, then 

“ Of course not ;” said the professor, coolly. “ But I can 
pretend, which is just as good.” 


192 


LqKIMER littlegood. 


“ Perhaps you don’t believe in mesmerism at all, then 
usked Lorimer. 

“ Of course I don’t. The professors of a mystery never be- 
lieve in it themselves. 1 know perfectly well that if 1 get a 
weak, nervous female opposite me, and tell her that she is to 
look straight at me w^hile 1 stare might and main at her, and 
keep moving my hand in a waving, monotonous manner, she’ll 
drop olT into a sort of sleep. 1 don’t know why^ but so it is ; 
but you don’t suppose that anybody could mesmerize me, 
do you? The truth is, that those who are mesmerized go 
with a determination to be so ; if you don’t wish to be sent 
to sleep there’s no man in the world can send you, if he makes 
passes at you till his own arjns drop off.” 

“Do you believe in spirit-rapping ?” inquired Lorimer. 

“I don’t believe in anything,” answered Dabskin, “but 
what I can see.” 

“A very limited creed,” said Lorimer, smiling. 

“ Not at all. There’s plenty of the real to believe in 
without troubling our heads about the hmciful. Thank good- 
ness, I’m no poet.” 

Lorimer burst out laughing. 

“ I don’t see the joke myself,” said the professor ; “ but I 
laiow this, if I had been a poet I should not have been able 
to give you that dinner that we’ve settled, to say nothing 
of Prince What’s* his-name’s hock.” 

“Very true; but possibly poets have higher tastes to 
gratify.” 

“ So much the better for them ; for they won’t gratify the 
lower ones out of poetry, I fancy. And yet I can’t say I 
ever met what’s called a highly intellectual man, w^ho hadn’t 
got a tremendous appetite. That’s another of my practical 
observations of life as it is. Perhaps you can account for 
the fact?” 

“ I don’t think I can,” answered Lorimer, smiling 

“ Well, I’ve always thought the reason to be that your 


DABSKIN’S PHILOSOPHY. 


193 ^ 

intellectual men don’t earn the best of dinners in the world 
every day, and vvhen they come across a good one, they nat- 
urally try to do it justice.” 

“ It’s fortunate for yon,” said Loi’imer, “that all men are not 
as incredulous as yourself, or where would be your audiences ?’* 

“ Exactly so; but fools always will be in the majority, and 
wise men always will take advantage of their folly. Good 
night !” 

And so they parted for the night. 

“ I’m afraid the professor’s a great rogue,” thought Lori- 
mer to himself. “ The fellow seems to have no conscience 
at all : and yet he has a philosophy of his own. That makes 
it so much the worse ; your philosophical rogues are rogues 
upon principle. There’s no chance of their ever repenting or 
reforming because they not' only practice villany but defend 
it, and swear that it’s as good as honesty. Ought I to throw 
up my engagement at once? 1 believe I oughts but hang me 
if I can, 1 do want to see this bit of life, and 1 will.” 

And with this attempt at self-consolation for an act he did 
not really approve of in his conscience, our hero (who won’t 
be heroic, it seems, under any circumstances) turned on his 
side and slept soundly through the night. 


194 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

IN THE MATTER OF RICHARD BKNNOOH, A MINOR. 

The death of Bill Bennoch was a great source of disap- 
pointment to our friend Mr. Weazel. That worthy little 
gentleman, it is true, had induced Bill, before his death, to 
raise money on his property wherewith to reward his, Mr. 
Weazel’s, Zealand activity in procuring him the estate ; but 
then Mr. Weazel expected many more advantages yet to 
flow in from his intercourse with the Bennochs. Indeed, he 
contemplated no less than getting the whole estate himself 
by degrees. He knew that a man of Bennoch’s drunken and 
improvident habits would always be in w'ant of more money 
than he had at command, whatever his income might be. To 
supply these w^ants and to get acre by acre from Bennoch in 
return was his object. This w^as defeated by Bill’s death. 

Bennoch died without a will. The property being princi- 
pally freehold landed estate, passed, therefore, to his only son 
and heir-at-law, Dick, a young gentleman who gave early 
proofs of his intention to follow in the course of his departed 
parent. 

“ Dick must have guardians,*’ said Weazel to Mrs. Bennoch. 

“ x\in’t I his guardian ?” she replied, snappishly, for she 
hated Weazel as much as ever. 

‘•Certainly not,” answered the little man. 

“ We shall soon see about that,” rejoined Mrs. Bennoch. 
“Let anybody try to interfere between me and my children, 
and see what he’ll get. I don’t suppose you forget soap-suds, 
do you 


IN THE MATTER OF RICHARD BENNOCH. I95 

• 

Weazel was slightly disconcerted at this remark and allu- 
sion ; he was, also, somewhat alarmed at Mrs. Bennoch’s 
energy. At the same time he was not going to yield without 
a struggle. 

“ My dear madam,” he said, in a soothing tone, “ I quite 
sympathize with your feelings on this point — they are those 
of a worthy mother ; but, unfortunately, the Lord Chancellor 
is a person not easy to be resisted.” 

“ What’s the Lord Chancellor to do with me or my children 1” 
asked the widow. 

“ Everything, my dear Mrs. Bennoch, everything,” said 
Weazel. “Your poor husband having died intestate, the 
Court of Chancery will make your son its ward during his 
infancy.” 

“He’s no infant; he’s fifteen,” said Mrs. Bennoch. 

“ Infancy, in the meaning of the law, is under twenty-one,” said 
Weazel. “The Lord Chancellor will make Dick a ward of 
Chancery, and will appoint a guardian or guardians over 
him.” 

“ Then he’ll appoint me the guardian,’’ she answered, dog- 
gedly. 

“No doubt he’ll name you one of them, my dear madam,” 
said Weazel. “ But it will be necessary to have a gentleman 
also—” 

“Then it won’t you ; so don’t think so,” she answered, 
“ for you’re not a gentleman, and you’re no friend of mine. 
I won’t have it, I tell you, though I see it’s what you’re driv- 
ing at now.” 

Weazel was again disconcerted. IIow he muttered curses 
in his heart against this “ she-devil !” It is true he thought he 
might succeed in being appointed guardian in spite of her op- 
position ; for was it not he who had procured a restitution of 
the property ? was he not the most intimate personal friend 
of the late Mr. Bennoch ? was not the mother an illiterate wo- 
man, and, as such, perfectly unfit to have the sole guardian- 


196 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


ship of a youth who was to be brought up as a gentleman 
and the proprietor of a good estate ? 

At the same time he saw clearly that he had better concil- 
iate her if possible. 

“ I wish, I’m sure,” said Weazel, ‘^that I could remove your 
prejudice against me — ” 

“ You’ll never do that,” she replied. 

“ But why not ?” he asked. 

“ Because you^ll never be honest ; because you’re a schem- 
ing, cheating, lying, underhanded little wretch : I’ve told you 
so before — do you suppose 1 shall ever think different, eh 

Weazel ground his teeth with rage, and cast a look of fero* 
cious hate at her. 

“ Ha ! ha !” she laughed ; I “ should be frightened at that look 
if you weren’t a coward. Clever as you are, you can’t hide 
your character, you see.” 

Weazel made a strong efh^rt to smother his passion, and 
succeeded better than almost any other man could have done. 

“ It’s natural that I should feel anger,” he said, “ when such 
hard names are given to me ; but I forgive you. I’m sure, and 
I hope some day you’ll do me justice. Let us talk reason- 
ably. I tell you that the Lord Chancellor will certainly ap- 
point one male guardian for your son ; and as he will naturally 
seek to know who may be considered the best friend of your 
family—” 

‘‘ I’ll tell him,” she exclaimed, interrupting him — “ I’ll tell 
him myself: Mr. Littlegood.” 

“ Mr. Littlegood ! what, the very man who kept you all out 
of yoiir rightful property !” 

‘‘It’s false!” she screamed; “it’s false, Weazel, and yoiK 
know it ! ” 

Weazel was actually alarmed; for the moment he dreaded 
some revelation, some discovery, but no, no ; it was only her 
suspicion, and vvhat is suspicion without the shadow of a proof. 

“I can see your hang-dog look. Listen, Weazel 1” she ex- 


IN THE MATTER OF RICHARD BENNOCH. 197 


claimed, laying her hand on his arm, and grasping it so tightly 
as she went on speaking that he could scarcely repress a cry of 
pain. ‘‘ 1 know that there is some villany at the bottom of all 
this. 1 don’t know what it is, but God does, and He’ll tell us 
some day. We’re not the rightful owners of this property, but 
Mr. Littlegood is. Don’t speak — don’t deny it ; do you think 
Fd believe your lying lips when God tells me the truth in my 
own heart ? I tell you that Mr. Littlegood has been my best 
friend ; he spent his money and his time and his care on little 
Rose, and we’ve rewarded him by ruining him. He shall he 
my boy’s guardian ; and 1 hope the Lord Chancellor will let 
him spend half the money for his own self.” 

Weazel grinned — a ghastly grin, half of pain from his pinched 
arm, and half of amusement at Mrs. Bennoch’s original method 
of making compensation. He had one consolation — he was 
quite sure that Lorimer Littlegood would not accept the office, 
and that even if he would, the Lord Chancellor would be about 
as likely to bestow it on him as on the king of Ashantee. 

The subject of this discussion, or rather the young gentleman 
whose interest and fortunes gave rise to it, was at present a 
boarder in the establishment of the Reverend Doctor Crammer 
at Highgate. 

Dr. Crammer prided himself on a great many things, if we 
may use the word “ pride” in connexion with a doctor in divi- 
nity. In the first place he was proud of his conscientiousness. 
He thanked God that he did not starve his scholars as other 
schoolmasters did, nor make them bring silver spoons with 
them which they did not want, and forget to return them when 
they w'ent home. He prided himself on admitting only gentle- 
men’s sons into his establishment, and bringing them up os 
gentlem.en. He boasted that he made every boy really learn 
that which he professed to teach, and did not merely set them 
tasks and leave it to chance whether they performed it or not. 
Rinally, he took great credit to himself for using no rod or cane 
in his school, but supplying the deficiency by moral punish- 
ments. 


198 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


It was strictly true (or almost so) that the doctor could take 
credit to himself for all these things. He gave his boys plenty 
to eat ; but that was only fair when he charged eighty guineas 
for their board. He did not commit the customary plate rob- 
beries of many other schools. He drummed all the knowledge 
he could into a boy’s head ; but, alas ! this was done at many 
a sacrifice, for he made the poor fellows stick to their work at 
least ten hours a-day, and he taught them nothing but what was 
taught in the Dark Ages. As for using no rod or cane, many 
a poor lad wished that he did, instead of having nine-tenths of 
his play-hours taken up in the “moral punishment” of writing 
the same line over for a thousand times, or occasionally getting 
a “ punch on the head” from the doctor’s fist, or a slate, or a 
thick book. To tell the truth, the doctor had a bad digestion, 
and w'as irritable and ill-tempered to a frightful extent. He 
W' as a very Piesbyterian of schoolmasters, ancf considered, or 
at least treated, every one of his pupils as if they were predes- 
tined to eternal punishment. 

Certainly, he w'as aristocratic in his views, and would never 
take a tradesman’s son into his school. Mr. Bennoch, being a 
man of landed estate, was, in his opinion, unquestionably a gen- 
tleman, and so Dick w^as admitted without hesitation. 

Dick felt far from comfortable in his new clothes ; they 
seemed so tight and looked so clean that he was afraid to move 
in them. And then, though Dick was by no means of a modest 
disposition, he was rather abashed on finding that w hile he could 
barely read, the other boys of the same age were deep in Vir- 
gil, and Homer, and mathematics — people and things of whose 
existence he was till then unaw^are. In fact, Dick had to go to 
the bottom of the lowest class, amongst the smallest boys, who 
beat him well in school, w hile he consoled himself by beating 
them in turn out of it. 

Dr. Crammer being about as completely destitute of genius 
himself as any human creature, utterly ignored its existence in 
others. Woe to the unlucky boy to whom Heaven had given 


IN THE MATTEK OF K I C II A RD BEN N OC H . 199 

it, if he came under the control of Dr. Crammer ! The doctor 
having acquired all his own learning by dint of methodical dril- 
ling and hard labor, believed in nothing else. If you had told 
him that the thorough-bred racer would kick and fret itself to 
death if put between the shafts of a wagon or a dung cart, the 
doctor would consider you a person of wild and dangerous no- 
tions. If you tried to persuade him that some young minds 
catch at great truths almost by inspiration, while others may 
be drilled and crammed to eternity without imbibing them, the 
doctor would think you still more mad. He looked upon 
every boy as a machine, which, by careful training, could be 
made to perform such and such work. The possibility of the 
machine breaking down under the training never entered his 
head; still less could he conceive that some of the machines 
were ready-fitted for a much higher class of work than his own 
brain ever conceived. 

If the minds of children were all like sheets of perfectly 
blank paper on which the teacher may write what characters 
and what learning he pleases, Dr. Crammer might have been a 
tolerably good schoolmaster. But as we have all differently 
constituted minds and characters, even from our very birth, — 
as it requires much sound sense, observation, judgment, pa- 
tience, and kindliness to watch the development of each youth- 
ful intellect. Dr. Crammer was one of the very worst of tutors ; 
for his mind was contracted and his temper was detestable. 

Never were young gentlemen more orderly than at Dr. 
Crammer’s. A loud shout in the playground would have been 
punished by a thousand lines. A laugh in schooltime would 
have been a still more mortal offence. A torn jacket would 
not have been forgiven for a month ; and all other juvenile 
peccadilloes were treated in the same grave and serious man- 
ner till the spirit of every boy in the school was thoroughly 
cowed, and his young heart thoroughly wretched. 

Before Dick had been two days in the place he had received 
six severe moral lessons, consisting of an address delivered to 


200 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


the whole school during meal time (by way of helping diges- 
tion, perhaps,) on Dick’s delinquencies. 

“ Fm afraid this boy is in a bad state of mind,” observed the 
doctor, looking grave. 

Dick hadn’t a notion of what he meant, so he only put his 
tongue in his cheek, and made a flice at the boy opposite. 

The doctor caught the look, and Dick caught — a box on the 
ear that nearly upset him. 

“You leave me alone, will yer cried Dick ; “hit one of 
your own size, can’t yer.” 

The doctor was petrified for a moment, and the scholars 
trembled in their small-clothes. Suddenly the doctor rushed 
upon Dick, apparently with the intention of utterly annihilating 
him : but that young gentleman had so often been used to 
“ dodge” a policeman’s blows that he was a little bit too active 
for the doctor ; and diving between his legs, he sent the rever- 
end gentleman sprawling in the most undignified w^ay in the 
wmrld, while a peal of laughter (the pent-up laughter of many 
a dreary half-year) burst simultaneously from every scholar. 

The doctor rose — rose foaming with indignation and pain — « 
every voice was hushed in a moment, and every little heart 
terrified. The doctor was on the point of again springing on 
Dick, but the latter had reached the fire-place, and actually 
stood brandishing the poker. 

“ You come a-nigh me, and see if I don’t crack your blessed 
old nob !” shouted Dick. 

Not one of those young gentlemen present, whatever age he 
might attain — would ever again experience such a profound 
astonishment at any event on earth as each one felt at that 
moment ; 

“ To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall,” 

would have appeared trifling compared with Dick’s daring at 
this moment. As for the doctor he was so utterly staggered 


IN THE MATTER OF RICHARD BENNOCH. 201 

that he actually turned faint, and would, probably, have fallen, 
had not some of the elder boys come to his assistance, and 
given him a chair. 

“ Give him a drop of this.” said Dick, “ and tell him I won’t 
hurt him if he won’t hurt me.” 

A drop of this ! What was it ? The words revived the 
doctor as a horrid £ear crossed his mind. Dick held out a 
small flat bottle, and its contents were — gin ! 

It is a wonder that the doctor did not go off in a fit of apo- 
plexy, brought on by the combination of indignation, horror, 
and his upset on the floor. Gin ! Gin brought into the estab- 
lishment of the Reverend Dr. Crammer by one of his own 
pupils. 

Master Richard Bennoch slept at home that night, and Dr. 
Crammer’s medical attendant was called in to the reverend gen- 
tleman, whom he found in a kind of nervous fever. 


202 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD.. 


CHAPTER XXVIl. 
lorimer’s first appearance on any stage. 

t 

The railway conveyed Professor Dabskin and his new secre- 
tary to Stumpington on the afternoon of the day following that 
which we have described. 

Stumpington is not, perhaps, one of the most important 
places in the kingdom, though so considered by its own inhabi- 
tants. It is not very extensive, nor is it much distinguished for 
anything in particular. It is, indeed, one of those country 
towns that puzzle busy men of the world to know what they 
were built for, who inhabit them, and wh?t they do to pass 
away the time. If you walked down its High Street you 
would be still more puzzled about the last point, for you sel- 
dom met more than one or two people in it, except a lazy ostler 
outside the inn that nobody ever went to, or a wagon-driver 
plodding heavily along beside his sleepy team. Yet there must 
have been something to do, because there was a fair number of 
shops, and there was a bank, with its name in great gold letters 
on its wire-blinds, and there was a market-place and a theatre. 
Yes, positively there was a theatre ; but then it was seldom 
open. Occasionally a few third-rate actors “ on circuit” called 
there, and gave a couple of nights, when the house smelt very 
fusty, and the scenes (everybody knew them as well as the fur- 
niture of their own rooms) would not shift well, and the gas 
bobbed up and down unpleasantly as if the pipes were damp, 
as they no doubt were, and the curtain had holes in it badly 
darned up. Still, with all these drawbacks, Stumpington wa« 


MESMERISM. 203 

always considered by the Thespians on circuit a fair paying 
place for a couple of nights. 

At this moment the walls of the market-house and every 
other available blank wall in and about the place, together with 
the shop-windows, had tremendous “ posters” announcing the 
fact that the great wizard and necromancer, mesmerist and en- 
chanter, Professor Dabskin, was going to give his unrivalled 
entertainment, which he had had the honor of presenting before 
all the crowned, and most of the uncrowned, heads of Europe 
and the world, that night, and that night only, in the Theatre 
Royal aforesaid. 

The “ posters” were not thrown away ; never before were 
so many boxes and seats taken beforehand as on this occasion 
in Stumpington. It was hinted that the lord-lieutenant and 
lady-lieutenant of the county, and all the little lieutenants (that 
is to say, their fair and interesting family) would be present. 
It was proclaimed that Colonel Bum pus and the officers of the 
19th Heavy Dragoons, quartered at the nearest garrison town, 
would all come over ; and the announcement made every young 
lady in the town most earnestly anxious to see — the professor. 
The mayor’s name appeared in the bills as special patron of 
the entertainment, and, in short, everything was done to make 
the event come off well, and Stumpington resolved to have a 
night of it. 

When the professor and Lorimer drove into the town from 
the railway station — which, like all country railway stations, 
was, of course, a long way from any human habitation, except 
that of the station-master — when they drove into the town in 
an open post-chaise they were vociferously cheered by a multi- 
tude of people, who wondered which was the professor and who 
the other could be, and admired the bright blue livery and 
eruption of buttons on the professor’s page seated in the dickey ; 
and wondered still more who the grave looking gentleman seat- 
ed by the side of the page could be, and had not the slightest 
notion that it could be the professor’s French cook. 

14 


204 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


As soon as they were safe in their 4iotel, the proprietor of 
the theatre called. 

“ Well, Mr. Brown, how go matters?” asked Dabskin. 

“ Capitally, professor ; capitally. Never knew so many 
places taken beforehand in my life.” 

“ You’ve never had me here before,” said the professor. 

“ Ha 1 ha ! Very good ; just so.” 

“ My secretary, Mr. Littlegood ; Mr. Brown, Mr. Little- 
good,” continued the professor, introducing them. 

“Sir, to you ; you do me proud,” said Mr. Brown. 

“ What time do we begin ?” asked Lorimer. 

“ Seven, sir ; seven. An early place this. Many of the 
nobility have a long way to come and to return at night.” 

“ It's four now,” said the professor. “ Plenty of time to get 
the things ready. Buttons will take care of that ; he always 
manages that matter. And I dare say my cook will let us 
have a good dinner by half-past five.” 

Mr. Browm departed, promising to see to everything con- 
nected with his department, namely, the theatre itself, and left 
the professor and Lorimer alone. 

As the hour of seven approached, the latter began to feel a 
little nervous. He did not like the idea of assisting at such a 
juggling affair at all. However, it w'as too late to draw back 
now ; and so Lorimer determined to have some fun to himself 
and after his own fashion. 

“ Now, understand, I expect you to do exactly w hat I tell 
you,” said the professor, who seemed to Lorimer to have adopt- 
ed rather a more important and commanding tone since they 
left London. “ If you don^i w^e shall quarrel, and I’m not a 
man to be trifled with.” 

Lorimer started in surprise ; but the professor was sipping 
his soup, and seemed quite unaware that he w'as adopting an 
offensive tone. 

“ I’ll serve you out,” thought Lorimer, “ for your imperti 
nence and he kept his word. 


MESMERISM. 


205 


At seven o’clock the Stumpiiigton theatre was “ crowded 
with an overflowing audience,” as newspapers always phrase it. 
The lord-lieutenant had really come and brought his lady and 
his little ones. The officers of the heavy dragoon regiment 
had also actually come, and the Stumpington young ladies were 
in raptures and ringlets, each striving to outdo the other in 
smiles, good humor, and good looks. The Stumpington young 
men were there also — less pleased, because they did not at all 
admire the heavies aforesaid, and thought their moustachios 
quite absurd. It is true that one or two individuals had tried 
to get up a moustache movement in Stumpington, but it 
broke down, and the directors of the bank especially forbade 
their clerks to cultivate such an ornament under pain of in- 
stant dismissal — being, in fact, particular to a hair, and con- 
necting forgery and embezzlement with hirsute countenances. 

There was a band, and the band played an overture to some- 
thing nobody knew what, though whether this arose from the 
limited musical knowledge of Stumpington, or from the limit- 
ed powers of execution of the band, we cannot decide. And 
then the curtain drew up, and Buttons was discovered standing 
beside a velvet-covered table. 

Then the professor entered and made his bow, and then all 
Stumpington clapped its hands and hurrahed, and then the pro- 
fessor put his hand on his heart and bowed again and again ; 
and then, by degrees, the noise subsided, and the professor 
said : — 

“ Ladies and gentlemen — ” 

But we are not going to give the professor’s speech — it was 
completely to the point ; which was that he, the professor, was 
the greatest man in the world. Nobody attempted to dispute 
this fact, and the professor talked with such eloquence about his 
foreign orders (for which he had been cramming poor Lorimer 
on his way from town) that all Stumpington believed him to 
have more decorations than the late Duke of Wellington- 

After the preliminary speech the professor performed a great 


206 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


number of the tricks which every mountebank does perform, and 
which one may see as well done in the street as in the profes- 
sor’s entertainment. No matter ; everybody applauded every- 
thing, and all went merry as a marriage bell. 

“ Now then, I want you,” said the professor to Lorimer, in 
an under tone. “ Now mind what you’re about, and don’t 
make any confounded mistake.” 

Here the professor made another little speech to the audience 
touching the wonders of mesmerism. He deprecated the un- 
belief of some people in this most wonderful discovery of 
modern times, and protested that he would afford them the 
most convincing proofs of its extraordinary effects. 

He then made Lorimer sit on a chair in the middle of the 
stage, facing the audience. 

“ Now observe, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, and he be- 
gan making passes at Lorimer. “ He is gradually becoming 
comatose.” 

Lorimer laughed an audible laugh ; the audience laughed 
too. 

‘‘ Confound you !” whispered the professor. “ Be still, or 
Fll serve you out. You see, ladies and gentlemen, that being 
far from a weak or nervous young man, this gentleman takes 
some time to be completely affected. Observe that he is 
gradually becoming perfectly still.” 

And so he did. By degrees, Lorimer’s hands dropped down, 
his eyes became fixed and remained perfectly listless and ap- 
parently in a waking sleep. 

“ At this moment, ladies and gentlemen, the patient is en- 
tirely under my control. He cannot move, or speak, or think 
but as I please. I will give you proofs of this. Do you hear 
we ?” addressing the patient. 

“Yes.” 

“ You can’t lift your arm — ^try.” 

The arm did not move. 

“ Try to move your right leg.” The leg did not move. 


MESMEKISM. 


207 


“ Now observe, ladies and gentlemen, and the professoi took 
Lorimer’s arm and lifted it straight up. “ Where I put it, it 
will remain and it did remain bolt upright. 

The audience applauded vociferously. 

“Now observe me put it down again,” and he took hold of 
the arm, but it did not come down. Let it down you fool, will 
you whispered the professor in a rage. 

Lorimer sprung up from his seat, caught the astounded pro- 
fessor by the collar, and led him before the no less astounded 
audience. 

“ Now confess to these ladies and gentlemen,” cried Lorimer, 
scarcely able to repress his own laughter. “ Confess what a 
miserable trickster you are. Confess you don’t know anything 
at all about mesmerism, and that you only want to impose up- 
on them before their faces, get their money, and laugh at them 
behind their backs. Confess, sir.” 

Shouts of laughter greeted the professor, who cowered under 
the grasp, the glance, and the voice of his secretary. Shaking 
him well, Lorimer gave him a thrust and sent him spinning off 
the stage. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” said Lorimer, “ if I have spoilt 
your amusement I sincerely beg your forgiveness. So long as 
the man performed his own tricks I did not interfere, but when 
he wished to make me a party to a gross deceit I judged it right 
to expose him.” 

There were a few cheers, but a very few ; and then followed 
loud groans. At first Lorimer thought these were for the pro- 
fessor, but shouts of “ Off! off!” convinced him that was the 
object of their anger. 

He was surprised! IIow little he knew the world ! Was 
any man ever grateful to another for showing him that he had 
been made a fool of] 


208 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A FALCON HOVERS OVER A DOVE. 

Poor Mrs. Bennoch was not an enviable woman. She 
used to think it extremely disagreeable to want money for 
bread in the days when she took in washing, and her husband 
drank her earnings. It seemed to her, at such times, that if 
she had enough to live on, and no tipsy brute to trouble her, 
she should be a perfectly happy woman : and yet, nov/ that she 
enjoyed both these coveted advantages, she was as far from 
happiness as ever. Certainly she did experience a relief in 
being rid of Bill, and it was far from unpleasant to be assured 
of plenty of food and clothing ; but these blessings were coun- 
terbalanced by many new evils. She was uncomfortable in 
her new position : she was expected to be a “ lady,’’ and she 
felt she was not one, and had no desire to be one. A little 
pension, and no position, would have suited her better than 
the wealth and station the Bennoch family had attained. And 
the good woman had another secret grief: she wished her son 
and daughter to be educated as befitted their new fortunes, but 
she had sense enough to perceive that this w^ould gradually re- 
move most of the sympathy existing between her and her 
children. 

“ They’ll look down on their poor, ignor.ant mother,” she 
used to say to herself; “they’ll despise me — oh, no ! no! I 
won’t believe that ever my dear little Rose will despise her 
own mother. She’s too gO(;d for that, but still she w'on’t un. 
derstand me, and I shan’t understand her. Oh dear ! I wish 
we had less money, only just enough^ 


THE FALCON AND DOVE. 


209 


Het interview with Weazel, touching the guardianship of 
Master Dick, had greatly discomposed her. She hated and 
dreaded that man more than ever : not fearing him personally, 
but loathing his influence over anything, or any one belonging 
to her. It was quite clear that she had not much time to lose, 
for Weazel would be sure to be on the alert to gain his ends. 
To whom to apply for advice and assistance, she knew not. As 
to what the Court of Chancery was, she had scarcely an idea, 
but associated it in her mind with something dangerous and 
horrible, as a great many people do who are intimately ac- 
quainted with it. The only lawyer she knew was Weazel’s 
lawyer, who had managed all the affairs of her late husband, 
and she had sense enough to guess that he w^as not the man to 
apply to in such a case as the present, w'here her wishes were 
diametrically opposed to Weazel’s. At last a thought struck 
her. 

‘‘ Kose, dear, where does Mr. Littlegood live]” she asked 
her daughter. 

“ Mr. Littlegood !'’ exclaimed Eose, as her heart beat at the 
sound of the name ; “ why, mother 

“ 1 w^ant to know, darling; I will tell you why another time. 

Rose told her mother the address which Lorimer had given 
her when he begged her aiw'ays to apply to him for aid or ad- 
vice. And Rose sighed, and wept too, when she thought of 
the kind, good, handsome friend she had lost. To say truth, 
Rose never could think of Lorimer without recalling his good 
looks. I don’t know how this happened, but such is the fact. 
RovSe w’as very young yet, and the young are most captivated 
by beauty. This may be the only explanation ; time will show. 

Mrs. Bennoch put on a very formidable widow’s bonnet, and 
left the house, called a cab, and drove to Lorimer’s late lodg- 
ings. 

Lor’ bless you, ma’am,” said the servant girl who opened 
the door, “ he’s gone away ever so long : he lost all his money, 
you kno>v, and couldn’t afford to live here.” 


210 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Mrs. Bennoch sighed, “ Who had robbed him of his 
money V* she thought. 

“ Can’t you tell me where he’s gone 

“ That I’m sure I can’t ; but now I think of it, I can tell you 
where the lad lives that used to be his servant, and he, may- 
hap, can tell you more than I can.” 

The girl then gave Mrs. Bennoch the address of Job Peck ; 
that is to say, his brother’s house, and to that place Mrs. Ben- 
noch forthwith proceeded. 

Mrs. Peck, the active, busy, cheerful, little Mrs. Peck, whom 
we have not met for so long a time that we fear the reader 
may have forgotten her, w^as rocking a baby with her foot, 
sewing with her hands some garment of another child, and tell- 
ing with her mouth a grave, moral story for the edification and 
delight of a third child. Mr. Pickwick made acquaintance with 
a cab horse which he was informed would tumble down and 
die if he were ever taken out of the shafts, and so he never 
was allowed any rest at all. Now, we verily believe that Mrs. 
Peck would have moped herself to death in a week if she had 
been positively forbidden to do any kind of w^ork for that space 
of time. Activity was life itself to her, and her cheerfulness 
was equal to her activity. 

When Mrs. Bennoch entered the room, and saw the little 
family group of Pecks, she was conscious of a feeling some- 
thing like envy of the happy mother. Indeed, she thought to 
herself that she should like her condition to be precisely what 
she judged from appearances Mrs. Peck’s must be, one of com- 
petence without riches, comfort w ithout “ gentility.” There 
was a strong contrast in the appearance of the tw^o w^omen as 
they stood facing one another, for Mrs. Peck rose and curtsied 
as soon as Mrs. Bennoch entered her room. The one was 
small, feminine, good-tempered, and free from care in her ap- 
pearance; the other tall, masculine, hard-featured, and with the 
lines of many an anxious hour indelibly stamped upon her 
face. They were of about the same age in reality, but at first 


THE FAl.CON AND DOVE. 


211 


glance you would have taken the widow to be ten or fifteen 
years the senior. So she was in one sense, for none of our 
lives are truly “ dated by years the wear and tear of heart 
and brain, to say nothing of the body, constitute age. He 
that hath known grief and poverty and strife is old at a 
time of life which men call young. What is youth, but fresh- 
ness and purity, and health of mind and body ? What is 
age, but the absence of all these? 

“ My name is Bermoch,” said the widow ; “ I beg your par- 
don for disturbing you.” 

“ Oh, don’t mention it, pray,” said Mrs. Peck, startled at 
the name, and not best pleased with it ; but after all, she 
thought, the poor woman is a widow ! 

“1 wanted to see Job Peck, who used to live with Mr. 
Littlegood,” continued Mrs. Bennoch. “ Do you think he can 
tell me where I can find his master — I mean, Mr. Littlegood?” 

“ 1 am sure I don’t think he can,” said Mrs. Peck ; “ but he 
ain’t here, he is in service with another gentleman.” 

“ Might I go and see him ?” asked Mrs. Bennoch. 

“ Oh, yes, certainly — that is — 1 beg your pardon, ma’am, 
but he’s very fond of Mr. Littlegood, and I hope you don’t 
want — I mean — ” 

“ 1 think I can guess what you mean,” said Mrs. Bennoch, 
not unkindly, though rather grimly, as her manner was ; “you 
hope 1 don’t want Mr. Littlegood, to do him any harm ! In- 
deed, I don’t : he’s been my best friend, and God knows, I 
wish he had his money back again, it’s not me that would keep 
him from it. Come, is that what you meant?” 

Little Mrs. Peck stammered and blushed slightly, but con- 
fessed that she did hope no harm was meant against Mr. Lit- 
tlcgood. She then gave the widow Job’s address, and Mrs. 
Bennoch left her. 

“Poor thing ! she ain’t happy, one can see easy enough,” so- 
liloquized Mr§. Peck. “ Ah ! it ain’t riches that’s happiness. 
I should like to know if I’d lose my dear, good husband for 


212 


LORIMER LTTTLEGOOD. 


millions of riches. No, that I wouldn’t, would I, you little 
rogue ?” and she kissed her baby as the tears stood in her eyes 
at the bare thought she had conjured up. 

Meantime Mrs. Beniioch found Job, but Job could give her 
no information. He knew nothing of what had become of 
Lorimer, he wished he did, for he was a good man and a good 
master, and he hoped he’d thrive, and if he didn’t thrive, there 
wasn’t nobody in the world deserved to — that’s all he had to 
say. 

Mrs. Bennoch was pleased to listen to Lorimer’s praises, 
though sorry to gain no information about where he w'as to 
be found. She stood musing for a time, and then said : — 

“ You don’t happen to know a good lawyer, do you. Job ?” 

“ I should think 1 ought, my new master’s one,” answered 
Job. 

“ Indeed ! is he a good one 1” asked Mrs. Bennoch. 

“ Do you mean a clever, sharp one 1” asked Job. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oh, then he’s an out-and-outer,” replied Job, readily, and 
much relieved, for he was afraid that he should be requested to 
speak as to his master’s moral goodness, and on that point Job 
entertained opinions which he did not care to divulge. 

“ Do you think he’d manage some business for me 1” asked 
the widow. 

“ He’d do anything for money — I mean — of course, you 
know it’d be his duty to do it ” answered Job, who was nearly 
saying a little more than he intended. “Shall I go and speak 
to him ?” 

“ Thank you,” said Mrs. Bennoch ; “ and I wdsh you’d just 
tell him about me, because you know, don’t yen'?” 

“ All right, I wdsh I didn’t.” 

“ So do I, God knows,” and Job w^as sorry for having said 
w hat he did. 

In a few minutes Job returned to Mrs. Bennoch, whom he 
had left in the hall, and begged her to w\alk up-stairs to his 
master’s room, to which he forthwith conducted her. 


THE FALCON AND DOVE. 


213 


Mr. Falcon, the gentleman into whose presence Mrs. Ben- 
noch was ushered, was a man of about thirty-five years of age, 
with an eye like that of the bird whose name he bore, and a 
nose not unlike the same bird’s beak. Not that Mr. Falcon 
was a bad looking fellow, quite the contrary ; the ladies, who 
surely are the best authorities on such a point, considered him‘ 
extremely handsome. Piercing dark eyes, aquiline nose, jet 
black curling hair, pale skin, w^ell cut mouth — such a face as 
this, added to a graceful figure, was attractive enough. Cer- 
tainly his forehead, though white, was hardly full enough ; the 
eyes, though good in color, form, and brightness, wrere not cap- 
able of expressing the gentler feelings ; and the mouth, hand- 
some as it was, seemed apt to curl with an expression that 
was not so much contemptuous or supercilious, as cruel. Al- 
together, a physiognomist wmuld have hesitated to accept the 
friendship or to incur the enmity of Mr. Falcon. 

‘‘ Pray be seated, madam,” the attorney said, handing her 
a chair in a well-bred and easy manner, and treating her with 
that perfect respect, untainted with the slightest touch of ser- 
vility, which is unattainable by the vulgar. 

“ I dare say Job, sir, has told you w’ho I am,” said Mrs. 
Bennoch, more awed than she had ever felt before. 

Mr. Falcon bowled acquiescence. 

Mrs. Bennoch then proceeded to tell her story as well as 
she could. Mr. Falcon made little hasty notes as she went on, 
and helped her narrative so wonderfully every now and then, 
by filling up little gaps w^hich she left in the history, that she 
more than once paused and said — 

“ But, perhaps, you know all about it, sir 
“ Not at all, not at all,” was the reply. ^ 

Nor did he ; for he had heard nothing of the case till that 
moment. But a lawyer is so accustomed to deal with similar 
matters ; so accustonjed to hear clients tell long rigmarole 
stories, in which they lay great emphasis on parts that are ut- 
terly immaterial, and glide over, and forget, those on which 


214 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


the whole matter legally turns, that he sees, almost intuitively, 
into a case directly the first rough outline of it is set before 
him. 

“ This Weazel, I take it, is a clever little fellow in his way ? ' 
he asked. 

“ He’s the wickedest villain living, I do believe, sir,” an- 
swered the widow. 

“ Oh ! dear, oh ! dear,” said the attorney, smiling, and show- 
ing some very w’hite teeth, “ you must not say that, my dear 
madam ; or he’ll be bringing an action against you for slander. 
Besides, you know, he helped your late husband to this 
estate.” 

“ I wish he hadn’t, it’s done us no good, I’m sure ; and it’s 
ruined a good gentleman.” 

“ Mr. Littlegood, eh V’ 

“ Yes, sir : and what I want now is, that Mr. Littlegood may 
be made my son’s guardian, if he’ll be so kind as to be it.” 

“He, my dear madam? — it’s impossible, the chancellor 
would think us mad in asking such a thing.” 

“ That’s because the chancellor don’t know Mr. Littlegood, 
then,” replied Mrs. Bennoch. 

It cost Mr. Falcon a great deal of trouble to convince Mrs. 
Bennoch that it was utterly useless to think of this favorite 
scheme of hers ; but she was obliged to give way at last, when 
he assured her that no attorney in the world would assist her 
in presenting such a petition. 

“ Well, anyhow, sir, I won't have that wicked little Weazel 
to be the guardian,” she at last exclaimed. 

“ Oh that’s a different matter,’’ answered Mr. Falcon, sooth- 
ingly. “ There’s no need why you should have him if you 
object.” 

“ Will you promise me he shan't be ?” she asked. 

“ I think I may venture to do that, because the chancellor 
would certainly not like to appoint a guardian against your 
wishes : but we must have someone to suggest in his stead. 
Who shall it be ?” he said. 


THE FALCON AND HOVE. 


215 


Mrs. Bennochhad not the slightest notion in the world : for 
few people had so limited an acquaintance as she, and even the 
individuals she did know were not such as she would wish, or the 
chancellor approve of, as guardians of her hopeful son. At 
length, after some hesitation, she said — 

“ Would you mind being one, sir?” 

Mr. Falcon professed to be really quite taken by surprise ; 
short acquaintance — serious responsibility — and so forth, but 
ended by consenting to waive his objections, if he had any. 

And so the widow went away a little more at ease in her 
mind. 

And Mr. Falcon, as he drove his cabriolet in the park that 
afternoon, with Job perched up behind, thought it would be a 
good and profitable office to be guardian to the heir to three 
thousand a year. 

And two days later Mr. Falcon called on Mrs. Bennoch, and 
he saw, beside the widow, her daughter, Rose. And Rose was 
looking so beautiful and young, and innocent, that Mr. Falcon 
was more than ever satisfied with his new clients ; and his dark 
eyes flashed and his mouth curled with its worst and most 
cruel expression, as he left the house, still thinking of Rose. 


ni6 


LOKIMEK LITTLEG.OOD. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

LORIMER MEETS WITH NEW FRIENDS AND AN OLD ONE. 

When Lorimer Littlegood returned to the Stumpington 
Hotel, after spoiling the professor’s mesmeric exhibition,* he 
was not the happiest man in the universe. Anger is, certainly 
one of the most unpleasant sensations in the world, but when 
the anger you feel is with yourself, it is ten times less endu- 
rable than ever. If you are angry with any one else, you 
have the consolation of thinking you will kick him, or rail at 
him, or punish him in some way, or perchance magnanimously 
forgive him. With yourself you can do nothing but repent ; 
and repentance, though highly commendable, is dreadfully dull 
and slow work. 

Lorimer’s case stood thus. If he was right in exposing the 
professor’s trickery, he was clearly wrong and culpable in ac- 
cepting the engagement, as his secretary. If he was right in 
accepting the engagement, then he was wrong, and almost treach- 
erous, in exposing the secrets of the professor’s trade. Which- 
ever way he turned his own condemnation stared him in the 
face. This made him angry — it should have made him simply 
penitent, no doubt ; but alas ! there are some natures that gall 
and fret themselves when they should be humble. Happy the 
man who finding his error can regret it with humility, and 
atone for it with amendment ! Lorimer was, we fear, one of 
those whose first error is fated to lead to many others by un- 
settling the mind, and making it wage hopeless war against the 
consequences of its own misdeeds. 

In addition to the consciousness of having acted improperly, 
there came also the reflection that he had thrown away his 


OLD AND NEW FlilENDS. 217 

“bread and butter.” Let us do him the justice to say that 
this did not weigh nearly so heavily with him as the other con- 
sideration ; but still it was not to be overlooked. His purse 
was extremely light — his means of replenishing it, at present, 
none. lie was some distance from London, and his hotel bill 
and railway fare would still further diminish his slender re- 
sources. 

lie was sitting in his bed-room and thinkiug over these mat- 
ters, when he heard a knock at his door, 

“ Come in !” 

It was Buttons, the page, who entered. 

“ Oh, my, he-he-he !” began the boy, holding his sides and 
bursting with laughter, “ I never see such a go in all my life — 
he-he-he !” And Lorirner thought the boy would go into a fit. 

“ What the deuce are you laughing at, eh, you young ras- 
cal he cried. 

“ Oh, my ! I can’t never keep from thinking of your collar- 
ing old Dabskin. I’ve been bustin’ ever since, and he’s punch- 
ed my head twenty times off the scenes for it this blessed 
evening.” 

“ But did the performance go on ?” asked Lorirner. 

“ Go on, I believe yer,” replied the boy ; “ the people cried 
‘ Dabskin,’ and Dabskin comes on, and makes a low bow, and 
the people cheers him as loud as they can, and hoorays like 
mad ; and Dabskin keeps makin’ more bows, and puttin’ his 
hand on his weskit, and then he says, ‘ Ladies and gentlemen,’ 
and the people cries, ‘ Hush !’ and ‘ Order !’ and then he goes 
on, ‘ Ladies and gentlemen, 1 trust you will not condemn me 
for the ruffianly conduct of the shameless young man whom I 
had the misfortune to employ as my secretary,’ and the people 
cheers again, and Dabsldn goes on, ‘ That young man was ur- 
gently requested by me not to feign the mesmeric sleep, but to 
wait till it came upon him properly. He basely disregarded 
my request, and tried to make it appear that Jm imposition 
was mine, I am worthily repaid for my endeavors to reclaim 


218 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


him from a career of vice and extravagance, in which he has 
wasted a noble fortune. It is impossible for me to keep so 
hopeless and abandoned a profligate in my employment, but I 
shudder to think what will be the wretched fate of this Mr. 
Lorimer Littlegood.’ ” 

“ Do you mean to say the rascal said all that *?” cried Lori 
mer. 

“ In course he did,” answered the boy, grinning, “ and the 
people cheered him like mad, and he pulled out his pocket- 
handkerchief and put it to his eyes, and made believe he was 
blubbering. Oh, my ! how I did bust with laughin’ !” 

“ This is pleasant, upon my soul,” said Lorimer. 

“ Ain’t it fun V cried the boy, who only saw the amuse- 
ment of the thing. “ I thought you’d like to hear ; besides, 
master sent me to tell you, you are to go to the devil, and pay 
your own expenses.” 

Lorimer smiled ; and yet he felt very much disposed to go 
and collar the professor again. But a little reflection told him 
that he had to thank himself for what had occurred. So he 
merely sent his compliments to the professor, that he should 
pay his own expenses, but had no present intention of going to 
the devil. 

He then went to bed, and slept soundly till morning. Some 
people can always do this, whatever may be the amount of 
troubles on their shoulders. So it was with Lorimer ; grief 
neither spoilt his rest nor his appetite yet. 

In the morning he was surprised to find, brought to his room 
with the shaving water, a note, addressed to himself. He broke 
the seal and read as follows : — 

Sir, — 1 was at the theatre last night and witnessed your con- 
duct. I am not about to tell you whether I approved or con- 
demned it ; but I merely beg that you will not leave Stump- 
ington without first affording me an interview. I am pretty 


OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. 219 

well known here. Send me a line to say when I may expect a 
call from you ; and believe me to be 

“ Yonr obedient servant, 

“John Rundle.’’ 

Who can the writer be] What can he want?” thought 
Lorimer. “ I must inquire when J go down stairs.^’ So he 
dressed and descended to the coffee-room to breakfast. 

“Waiter, do you know a Mr. Rundle?” 

“ Rundle, sir, — lawyer, sir ?” 

“ 1 am sure I don’t know what he is,” replied Lorimer, “ but 
his name is Mr. John Rundle.” 

“ That’s him, sir ; he’s a lawyer, sir ; everybody knows 
him, sir.’’ 

“ Is he a respectable man ]” inquired Lorimer. 

“ Oh, certainly, sir, — very, sir, — keeps a •pair of carriage- 
horses, besides a cab, for riding, sir.” 

“ Yes, no doubt ; but what sort of a character does he bear, 

1 me^ ?” 

“ Well, sir,” said the waiter, “ considering that he’s a lawyer, 
sir, I should say a capital good one.” 

“ Very well, thank you,” said Lorimer, and he went on with 
his breakfast. 

It then struck Mr. Littlegood that this lawyer must have 
been employed by the professor to take proceedings against 
him for whji.t he had done last night. He was half inclined not 
to go ; but would it be well to run away from the consequences 
of his own act ? No. 

So finishing his breakfast, and iiiquiring his way to Mr. Run- 
dle’s house, which, like all country solicitors’ abodes, was a 
great red brick building, with a very bright brass knocker, he 
was soon in the presence of that gentleman. 

“ I suppose you wonder what I want you for '?’’ asked Mr. 
Rundle, a bluff, honest-looking man. 

“ I dare say I can guess !” replied Lorimer. 

15 


220 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Can you ? What is it 

“ 1 presume you are employed by Mr. Dabskin to sue me/* 
was the answer. 

“ I employed by a mountebank, ha ! ha ! very good ! No, 
^Ir. Littlegood, 1 don’t have such clients as that; though, 
by-lhe-bye, you were quite wrong last night.” 

“ Indeed, sir,” answered Lorimer, nettled. 

“Yes, quite wrong,” continued the other, coolly, “ and you 
know it, and are sorry for it, so we won’t talk about that any 
more.” 

“ You seem to think you know a great deal about me, sir,” 
said Lorimer, angrily. 

“ Not a great deal, but a little more than you imagine,” re- 
plied Mr. Bundle. 

“ That is to say, I presume, you choose to believe the lies 
that man uttered against me after I left the theatre ?” 

“ Quite the contrary,” said the other, still perfectly un- 
moved, “ I knew them to he lies ; I knew that you did not 
spend your fortune, (though, by-the-bye, you were trying to do 
so,) but that you were robbed of it.” 

Lorimer looked at the lawyer in surprise. 

“ It is quite clear, sir, that you do know something of my 
history, though you are mistaken in saying that I was robbed 
of what appears never to have been rightly mine.” 

“ Appears, yes ; still 1 don’t alter my phrase, and I shan’t 
tell you how I know what I do. The question is, will you 
trust yourself to my guidance for a time V 

“ In what way asked Lorimer. 

“ Will you do exactly as 1 tell you ?” said the lawyer. 

“ Really, 1 hardly know what to reply.” 

“Y^ou had better reply ‘yes,’” answered Mr. Bundle. 
“ W ell, since you are such a very cautious young gentleman,” 
he continued, smiling, “ I must tell you what it is I want you 
to do. 1 want you to let me see if 1 cannot get back your 
property for you.” 


OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. 221 

“ But, my dear sir,” answered Lorimer, “ it has been proved 
not to have been mine.” 

“ Tut, tut,” began the lawyer. 

“ A.nd besides,” continued Lorimer, “ I have no money to 
pay the expenses of litigation.” 

“ Of course you have not ; I know all that. Now, my good 
young gentleman, I want to serve you, if I can. You believe 
that the estate is not yours. You may be right ; but as I know 
a little of one of the parties connected with this business, — Pll 
tell you how another time, — my strong impression is, that you 
have been cheated somehow or another. At all events I want 
you to let me sift the matter ; it will be at my own expense, 
if Pm wrong ; but I dare say, if I get you an estate, you won’t 
mind paying my bill of costs.” 

Lorimer smiled and said — 

“ Really, sir, I ought to feel, and do feel, most grateful to 
you for your kindness, especially as I am a perfect stranger to 
you, and certainly you did not see me under very favorable 
circumstances last night as secretary to a mountebank.” 

No,” said Bundle, smiling, “ but 1 have had a good charac- 
ter of you from another quarter. By-the-bye, will you allow 
me to introduce you to my family at once, and to engage you 
to dinner, because 1 must give you my views on your affairs 
more fully this evening.” 

And the old gentleman rose and led Lorimer, in a state of 
half-bewilderment, into the drawing-room, where two or three 
ladies were sitting at work. 

“My dear, Mr. Littlegood ; my wife, Mr. Littlegood, and 
my daughter, Jane, and — but you don’t need an introduction 
here, 1 dare say,” said the old gentleman, presenting Lorimer 
to a second young lady. 

Lorimer looked up — 

“ Miss Stanley !” 

“ Quite right,” said Mr. Bundle, “ that’s the young lady’s 
name ; and now, perhaps, you can guess where I had your 
sliocking bad character ?” 


222 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOPD. 


Miss Stanley colored, and looked confused ; Lorimer was 
almost as much embarrassed. 

“ I’m afraid I don’t deserve a very good one from Miss Stan- 
ley,” said Lorimer. 

“ Then, by Jove, you get more than your deserts,” exclaimed 
old Bundle, with a chuckle. 

“Papa,” remonstrated Miss Jane. 

“That’s not fair at all, my dear,” added Mrs. Bundle. 

“ Well, I’m sure I meant no harm,” said old Bundle, who 
seemed to think, that instead of being wrong, he had done quite 
right in letting Lorimer know what opinion Miss Stanley had 
formed of his character. 

Meantime Miss Stanley had resumed her seat on the sofa, 
and Lorimer had taken the chair nearest to her, and they were 
already conversing earnestly together. Let us seize the oppor- 
tunity to introduce the lady to our readers. 

Yet what a task have we undertaken! Can we perform it? 
We have a great mind to leave it alone, and begin a new chap- 
ter ; but as Miss Stanley will, perhaps, figure a little in these 
memoirs of our scapegrace acquaintance, something must be 
said about her personal appearance. 

Was she dark or fair ? Neither ; that is to say, her hair was 
a rather dark chestnut, and her skin very fair ; her eyes blown, 
the lashes black. The eyebrows were a little too straight, if 
the perfect arch be the criterion of perfection. And yet we 
never knew a good brain, and an arched eyebrow go together. 
The mouth was small : at first glance you would have said the 
lips were too thin, but you soon lost sight of this defect, if it 
existed, in observing the ever- varying expression of which 
those lips were capable. And then they enclosed such fault- 
less teeth, that you could not have wished them thicker lest 
they should hide somewhat of the beauty of these ivories. 

Was she tall or short ? Neither : she would not have been 
a fitting model for a Juno, but she was not a “ pocket Venus,” 
as dumpy little young ladies are occasionally called. She was 


OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. 


223 


of a moderate height, with an easy and graceful figure, and 
rather slender than otherwise. And so we have sketched the 
picture. Every one of our readers would, no doubt, be able 
to improve it, but then we are not describing a Venus, but Miss 
Stanley, as she was, and as we knew her. One thing is certain : 
Lorimer Littlegood was astonished to find how handsome she 
was : he had never noticed before how expressive her mouth 
was, how fine her eyes, how intellectual her forehead. Perhaps 
he had formerly been too much occupied with his own appear- 
ance to notice hers : such is very often the case with good-look- 
ing young gentlemen. 

W e are not going to give an account of Lorimer’s conversa- 
tion with Miss Stanley. It was the first time they had met 
since the unlucky affair of Lavers’s lying letter, and his conse 
quent cudgelling by Captain Kelly. He had not much trouble 
in convincing her of his innocence in this matter. She assured 
him that her mother entertained the highest opinion of him. 

“ And her daughter, not a bad one, I trust,” said Lorimer, 
“ if 1 may believe Mr. Rundle.” 

“ Oh, he^s fond of joking and quizzing every one,” she an- 
swered, but coloring again. 

Lorimer took his departure after a short visit, until dinner 
time, when he joined the little family party. 

After the ladies had retired, Mr. Rundle recommenced his 
conversation on Lorimer’s affairs. The first thing to be done 
was to get hold of all the papers relating to the affair. 

“ But Mr. Bosher has them all, and I am sure I don^t know 
what has become of him,” said Lorimer. 

“ I do,” observed Mr. Rundle. 

“ Indeed !” 

“ Yes : he/s at Boulogne, and you must go over there to him. 
You will have to coax, and bribe, and threaten, perhaps ; but I 
think yoffll be able to get the papers from him. Will you go 
Certainly,” replied Lorimer. 

“Very well; then, as we cannot begin operations, or even 


224 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


know what they will be, until we have got the papers, we won’t 
talk anything more about the affair at present.” 

A very pleasant evening did Mr. Lorimer Littlegood spend 
with his new friends. And when he went to bed that night, he 
did Wit fall asleep as quickly as usual, but he lay thinking of 
many things and many people; and yet he thought a great deal 
more about one person than about all the rest of the persons 
and things together ; and his bosom heaved an unwonted sigh • 
and he dreamt many dreams, and the one person figured in 
each of them. 


THE COUKT OF CllANCLKV ASTONISHED. 225 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

MRS. BENNOCH ASTONISHES THE COURT OF CHANCERY. 

About seven or eight hundred are yearly added to the list 
of English attorneys. Whether a country can be strictly con- 
sidered to be in a healthy condition as to morals, which requires 
this frightful number of individuals to carry on its litigation, is 
a question we leave others to determine. At least we may re- 
gard it as a sad sign of the times. Numbers of men go to the 
bar for the mere honorary degree, and without any intention 
of seeking for practice ; no man becomes an attorney but for 
the purpose of gaining his livelihood in the profession. Indeed 
the “ honor” of being an attorney, is one that most men would 
gladly dispense with. In society his position is as anomalous 
as a well educated tradesman’s ; he may be received on account 
of his own personal merits, but certainly not for his calling. 
His object then is gain ; and the gain, is to be made from liti- 
gation. No doubt a chorus of attorneys will cry “ no” to this, 
and talk of “ conveyancing,” and “ general business,” and so 
forth ; and perhaps even point us to firms that never issue a 
writ from one year’s end to the other, and yet have a most lu- 
crative business. But this does not destroy our argument. 
We know something oP conveyancing, and can safely declare, 
that if the law of real. property were simplified to the extent, 
that every lawyer of common sense is aw^are that it may be 
simplified, no, man could make a living by conveyancing. In- 
deed everybody could draw a conveyance, or fill up the form 
of one, as w'ell as a law'yer. We are told that great reforms 
have been effected : gi^eat they may be, but miserably small in 


226 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


comparison with those that remain to be accomplished. The 
wnole system of the law of real property in this country, is a 
disgrace to the civilization and intelligence of the age. Gener- 
ation after generation of lawyers have helped only to compli- 
cate and obscure what was tangled and dark enough before, till 
the evil has reached such a height, that we are sometimes 
informed there is not an indefeasible title to an estate in the 
wdiole kingdom. Not that there are any adverse claims to 
ninety-nine out of every hundred ; but because some ancient 
formulj® of the law may not have been complied with, in by- 
gone centuries, or some equally valid reason. Is it not mon- 
strous for common sense to hear it proclaimed, that a man 
cannot make out a good title to an estate, which has been in 
his possession, and that of his family for years, and his right to 
which is disputed by no one? Yet such the law often declares. 

Any one who has watched the progress or the introduction 
of any measure of legal reform in Parliament must have ob- 
served that nearly all the opposition or obstruction it has met 
with, has been from the lawyers themselves. A lawyer’s edu- 
cation seems to teach him to w^atch for objections to everything, 
not to seek for facts and arguments in its support. They can 
always see clearly the difficulties that may arise under a reform 
— they are the gnats that he cannot swallow ; but he overlooks, 
or slurs over, the hideous mass of evils intended to be removed 
—the camel that he gulps without effort. Thus not only do 
lawyers thrive by litigation, but they obstruct the removal of 
the abuses of law which lead to it, and as the number of law- 
yers increases, so do their power and influence, and so does 
danger to the common weal. 

As for the “ general business” conducted by attorneys, the 
less a man entrusts them wdth it, the better for him. Not only 
are attorneys generally bad men of business, from managing 
iiiatters differently from any one else, but it is undeniable that 
t hey have an awkward habit of getting up a ‘‘ row” out of the 
most simple things. A man who has not sense enough to ma- 


THE COURT OF CHANCERY ASTONISHED. 227 


nage his own affairs, is certainly not wise enough to be entrusted 
with an attorney. 

Mr. Falcon was one of those flourishing members of the pro. 
fession, who combine the business of money-lender, or money- 
agent, with that of the law. Not that he would have admitted 
the soft impeachment on any account ; but it is certain that Mr. 
Falcon’s unexceptionable cab, and admirable little bachelor 
establishment, would scarcely have been paid for out of the 
genuine six-and-eight-pences. For Mr. Falcon did not seek for 
vulgar common-law litigation in general. When he issued a 
writ it was generally for a few hundreds due on a bfll or a 
bond ; and the names on the writ often had handles to them, 
and the owners of the names nodded to Mr. Falcon in the park, 
and cried, “ How are you, old fellow in the most affable 
manner imaginable when they called on him at his house. 

Nothing pleased Mr. Falcon better than to have the “ma- 
nagement” of anything for anybody. He seldom made out a 
bill of costs for such things ; he acted in the most charmingly 
friendly manner, and slipped the “fifty” or the “hundred” 
pound note of his gratified client into his pocket with the most 
unconscious air in the world. It is quite true that if his clients 
had possessed any brains — which they seldom did — they might 
have managed the business quite as well themselves, and saved 
the bank-note; but that was no affair of Mr. Falcon’s. 

It may be readily conceived that he was well satisfied with 
the offer of the guardianship of Master Dick. The heir to 
nearly three thousand a-year might be extremely useful ; and 
if there were any pickings to be made during the minority, Mr. 
Falcon knew how to make them as well as most men. 

Mrs. Bennoch, therefore, found him the most attentive of 
solicitors. He called nearly every day ; he treated her with 
as much respect as if she had been born a duchess ; he brought 
charming little presents for Rose ; and he thoroughly capti- 
vated Dick by his liberal “ tips.” Mrs. Bennoch liked him 
amazingly; he thoroughly rid her of the presence of Weazel, 


228 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


for one day when the little man called, she “ referred him to 
her solicitor, Mr. Falcon, of Brook Street,” in a manner that 
perfectly astounded him. He did go to Mr. Falcon, who treated 
him quite politely, gave him no information of any kind, and 
showed himself more than a match for his cunning little visitor. 
Weazel felt it, and Weazel trembled. 

There was one person whom Mr. Falcon could not succeed 
in captivating at present — Eose Bennoch. The presents were 
received and acknowledged by her mother’s command ; but 
they were certainly not prized for the giver’s sake. Rose 
might have found it difficult to tell why she could not like Mr. 
Falcon, but she was thoroughly conscious of the very opposite 
feeling. She did not even admire him, yet he was very good, 
looking ; but then the glance of his eyes did not please Rose, 
and the curl of his mouth occasionally made her young blood 
run cold. Oh, Rose, Rose ! had it been ever thus ! 

Rose was now at a ladies’ college, where she was taught so 
iiiany things that it is wonderful how she remembered the 
names of them. She was a most apt scholar, and a most 
diligent one. The moment she perceived her deficiency in 
anything, she strove with all her energy to overcome it ; and 
she generally succeeded. She was liked by her companions, 
too, though all noticed the same strong tendency to “secre- 
tiveness” (as phrenologists term it), which had marked her 
earliest years in the dark alley. It might easily be account- 
ed for in her past history ; but what it might lead to in the 
fliture was a problem not without danger. 

The day at length arrived when the petition touching the 
future guardianship of Master Richard Bennoch was to be 
lieard before the Lord Chancellor. Mr. Falcon called in 
good time to conduct Mrs. Bennoch and Dick to the court. 
Mrs. Bennoch was attired in her best “ weeds,” and her 
whole appearance might have been pronounded formidable. 
Dick was squeezed into a suit of black, which seemed to nip 
him everywhere. Dick’s clothes always seemed to be too 


THE COURT OF CnANCP:RY ASTONISHED. 229 

tight for him, especially of late, as the unaccustomed good liv- 
ing that now fell to his share made him get desperately fat. 

Most people know the Lord Chancellor’s Court at West- 
minster, with its close atmosphere and grave dulness ; its 
rows of horsehair-wigged bai risters ; its unhappy-looking suit- 
ors, smug attorneys, and gaping public ; its pale venerable 
president, and courtly mace-bearer, secretary, registrar, and 
other attendants, not forgetting the criers, who are always 
making noise by hissing “ sht-tsh,” or shouting “ silence ” 
when nobody’s saying anything, but just to look like attend- 
ing to duty. Those who don’t know the place have lost little 
that is entertaining thereby, and may at least heartily congrat- 
ulate themselves on not being constrained to know it intimately. 

Air. Falcon elbowed his way through the crowd of idlers, 
conducting Mrs. Bennoch to the attorneys’ bench below the 
judges’ secretaries. On the same bench Air. Weazel was al- 
ready seated, and grinned and made the most polite bow in 
the world when he saw Airs. Bennoch and her solicitor. The 
former only cast a look of hatred and defiatice at him, but the 
latter gave him a nod of acknowledgment which meant, “ I 
don’t want any closer intimacy.” 

Few things are more disagreeable than sitting and wait- 
ing in court for your own cause to be called on. AVhat the 
deuce do you care about anybody else’s cause? And how 
very uninteresting they all seem, especially chancery ones 
where, if the lawyers do venture on a joke (and it’s astonish- 
ing what a long way a very small joke goes with them), the 
fun is so purely technical that clients cannot understand it. 
In fact, they seldom see much fun in chancery at all. Airs. 
Bennoch had to submit to this slow torture this morning, and 
it did not tend to soothe the natural irritability of her temper, 
excited, moreover, by the business in hand and the sight of 
Weazel. As for that little man, he seemed perfectly happy 
and good-humored, sitting beside his own solicitor, who, in 
rat-like look and general seediness, strongly resembled himself. 


230 


liORlMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


The cause now on was something about contempt. Some con- 
tumacious suitor had refused to obey an order of the court di- 
recting him to do something which it was impossible for him to 
do. He was to deliver up a certain identical grey mare, which 
grey mare no one knew what had become of. It would have 
been of no avail for him to tender a sum of money in place of the 
mare — besides which he had none to tender — but the Shylock 
of Chancery insisted on the mare and nothing but the mare, 
and in consequence of the mare not being produced, the con- 
tumacious suitor had been sent to prison about four years before, 
for “ contempt of the High Court of Chancery.” No doubt this 
reads like romance ; but the suit is a fact — the suitor is a 
living and breathing fact — and the prison holds him within its 
walls to this day for this very contempt. 

But what did Mrs. Bennoch care about the grey mare, and 
the man in prison, and contempt of court 1 After all, too, 
the motion, or the petition, or whatever it was, ended in noth- 
ing ; or, at all events, it did not end in producing the grey 
mare, or in letting the contumacious suitor out of prison. 

In re Richard Bennoch, a minor,” was at length called on, 
to the great relief of those interested in the case. And now 
up rose a gentleman in a silk gown and a powdered wig, and 
addressed his lordship the judge. What he said — at least, as 
he said it — does not much matter. The sum of it was, that it 
was necessary to appoint a guardian or guardians of the per- 
son and estate of Richard Bennoch, heir, &c., &c., &c. 

So far, so good. The learned gentleman presumed there 
would be no objection to appointing the young gentleman’s 
mother as one of his guardians; but it seemed right that 
there should be a male guardian also, and there happened to 
be a gentleman who had been the most intimate and devoted 
friend of the late Mr. Bennoch (the minor’s father) ; in fact, 
who by the most diligent exertions and the sacrifice of his 
time and his means had succeeded in restoring to Mr. Ben- 
noch the estate of which he had been unjustly dispossessed 


THE COURT OF CHANCERY ASTONISHED. 231 

by others. The gentleman in question was willing, from the 
same disinterested motives of friendship as had hitherto act- 
uated him to accept that office (arduous and responsible though 
it might be). In fact, Mr. Weazel — ” 

At this word, up sprang Mrs. Bennoch from her seat, 
bursting from the grasp which Mr. Falcon made at her arm, 
and towering like another fury. 

“ It’s a lie — it’s all lies ! he’s a mean, pitiful, lying scoun- 
drel, he is !” she screamed, pointing with outstretched arm at 
the alarmed and cowering little man whose name had just been 
uttered. 

So sudden had been her movement — so quickly had she 
hurled her denunciation at his head, that no one had been able 
to interrupt her ; and even when she had paused in her sen- 
tence, scarcely any one seemed to know what to do or say. 
The crier, who had stood gazing bewildered with his mouth 
open, at length mechanically cried, “Silence!” which brought 
every one a little to his senses. 

“ Who is this lady asked the chancellor, in amazement, 
while young barristers in the back benches nudged one an- 
other and giggled with delight ; and the mace-bearer leant 
over the green baize desk before him to look at her, and the 
secretary and the registrar stood up for the same purpose. 

“I believe this is Mrs. Bennoch, my lord,” answered the 
learned gentleman whose speech she had interrupted. 

“ Yes, my lord,” cried the lady herself, heedless of Falcon’s 
tugs at her dress and entreaties to sit down ; “ and I’d rather 
see my son in his grave than let that little scoundrel — look at 
him., my lord ! — have anything to do with him.’’ 

“You really must not interrupt the court, my good lady, 
and the language you have used is a gross contempt of it. 
Your wishes shall be attended to, and I have no doubt the 
very able counsel who represents your interests will take care 
that every argument is used by him to promote them.” 

The old gentleman’s quiet and dignified speech somewhat 


232 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


soothed the fierce temper ; but more so, perhaps, did the 
assurance that her wishes should be attended to. 

“ Wait one moment,” said his lordship, as she sat down, 
and addressing the counsel. “ Does the mother propose any 
guardian in place of this Mr. Weazen 

“ Weazel, my lord,” said the other counsel, correcting him. 
“ Yes — we propose Mrs. Bennoch’s solicitor, in whom she has 
great confidence — a gentleman of standing and of property.” 

“ How old is the minor 

“ Over fifteen, my lord.” 

“ Then let him step into my private room and his lord- 
ship retired, and Dick was conducted into his lordship’s 
presence. 

Nobody has been able to get hold of a reliable account of 
Dick’s#interview with the chancellor. Dick would only tell 
that his lordship was a “jolly old cock,” and asked him “all 
sorts of rum questions.” But it appears that he asked him 
the most important one, namely whom he would prefer for his 
guardian. Of course Dick, who hated Weazel, named Mr. 
Falcon, though it is to be feared that when pressed for his 
reasons, Dick found no better one than that he (Mr. Falcon) 
was an “ out-and-out tip.” With that reason the chancellor 
was obliged to be content; or, rather, he probably saw the 
mischief of appointing a guardian so thoroughly distasteful to 
the mother as Weazel ; and, no doubt, he considered it also 
highly beneficial to the youth’s w^prldly interests to have them 
watched over by a lawyer. 

At all events Mr. Falcon w^as appointed, and Weazel was 
defeated in his object. Henceforth he devoted himself to re- 
venge. Gladly wmuld he have robbed the Bennochs of their 
estate now ; but how could he do so without exposing his own 
villany id the past ? 

Weazel set to work to scheme — scheme — scheme. 


“ARCADES AMBO.’» 


2«3 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“arcades ambo.” 

The decision of the Lord High Chancellor was by no means 
satisfactory to Mr. Weazel. Indeed, it was the heaviest disap- 
pointment he had experienced since he first undertook to make 
Bill Bennoch, deceased, a man of property. What! had he 
labored, and plotted, and lied, and done other little deeds that 
he dared not to call by their right names, even to himself, only 
to find himself rewarded with a small slice of the acquired pro- 
perty, and then sent about his business ? It was too cruel : and 
he gnashed his teeth, and grinned in his own unpleasant and 
wicked way, to such an extent as often to frighten the misera- 
ble old woman who now waited on him, vice Peg Todd, de- 
parted to the north. 

But Weazel was not fool enough to waste his time long in 
impotent rage or reproaches against his ill fortune. Besides 
which, Weazel did not believe in fortune at all : he was strongly 
impressed with the idea that his fortune had been, was, and 
would be, precisely what he chose to make it. Therefore, after 
easing off his first fury by swearing awfully, and throwing a 
few things at the head of his venerable domestic aforesaid, he 
sat down to consider quietly what he should do next. He 
wanted revenge, and he wanted money. Tt would be difficult 
to say which of those two commodities he wanted the more at 
that moment ; but it is quite certain, that in a short time 
thence, he would very much prefer the money. And, more- 
over, if he got the Bennochs’ money, he would get revenge 
with it, the pleasantest sort of revenge, too, for Weazel could 


234 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


think of no direr punishment to any man than that of taking 
from him his property. 

It was quite in Weazel’s power to rob Mrs. Bennoch and 
her children of every thing they possessed, by a mere word. 
Weazel knew’ that, and he knew the consequences, also, that in 
punishing them he would be providing himself with a long 
journey at her Majesty’s expense. That game was not to be 
thought of. Suppose he should produce a will of Bill Ben- 
noch, just discovered, and constituting himself Dick’s guardian? 
Certainly Bill had never made such a will, but he might have 
done so, and might have stowed it away in some odd corner ; 
and then Weazel could write so Exactly like Bill’s signature, 
that — no, he thought he had better leave it alone. 

At last he found himself thinking a great deal about Mr. 
Falcon, Mrs. Bennoch’s new solicitor. Weazel was slightly 
afraid of him. This was not complimentary to Mr. Falcon, 
for W eazel was never afraid of a person whom he believed to 
be honest, nor of a fool, nor of a rogue of less calibre than his 
own, but he quailed before a superior genius in his own line. 
And this is exactly w^hat he believed Mr. Falcon to be. 

The rather vague idea that he began now to form was, that 
he might enter into some compact or understanding with Fal- 
con, to secure advantages to both of them — advantages which 
neither could acquire without the other’s aid. The difficulty 
was not so much how to open the matter to Falcon — for Wea- 
zel, having once made up his mind that the attorney was a 
rogue, he felt no great fear on that point — but what precise in- 
ducements to hold out for the desired alliance. It would not 
exactly be prudent to go and say, “ I got Bennoch that property 
by an act of roguery. If I confess it, the property goes, and 
your views with it, whatever they may be,” Because Falcon 
W’ould certainly reply, ‘‘ Go and confess it, and be transported — 
you know very well you dare not — so be off, and don’t trouble 
me.” 

While Weazel ^\''s thus meditating and puzzling his brains 


“ARCADES AMBO.” 235 

how to act, a knock was heard at his street door, that is to say, 
he heard it, but not his old servant, who was rather deaf. 

“ Hi ! old un ! go and open the door, you deaf old brute !” 
the latter part of the sentence was sotto voce^ not so much out 
of respect for the old ladv’s feelings, as to avoid a row with 
her, which he occasionally had. 

“Here’s Mister Peck,” cried the old woman, returning, and 
ushering the railw'ay guard into the room. 

“Ah! Peck! how are you?” cried Weazel, “I’m sure I’m 
delighted to see you,” while, in truth, he wished him at Jeri- 
cho, or a place far more unpleasant still. 

“ 1 thought I’d just call in and see you,” said Peck ; “ how 
are you getting on wdth your new servant?” 

“Ah ! pretty w^ejl ; but she’s a regular old she devil, and a 
thief,” he said, in a loud w^hisper. 

“ I dare say you don’t give her a chance to take much, eh ?” 
laughed Peck. 

“Certainly not — of course not,” said Weazel. “And where 
have you been lately ?” 

“ Oh, I go north every other day, as far as Stumpington, 
generally ; 1 dare say you know the place, don’t you ?” ho 
asked, looking very hard at Weazel. 

“ I know it slightly,” was the reply. 

“ A friend of mine there, told me he knew you,” continued 
Peck. 

“ Indeed ! who is he ?” 

“ Pie’s the parish clerk — Crank.” 

“ Oh ! ah ! yes ! just so, I recollect ; I had to get a copy of 
the register of a marriage once in Stumpington,” answered 
Weazel. 

“Yes, so he said,” replied Peck, quietly. “And the leaf 
was torn off, I think, wasn’t it ?” 

“ Yes, now you remind me, I beliei*'e it was,” answered 
Weazel, keeping a quiet countenance, but feeling far from easy 



16 


230 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Heard anything of the Bennochs lately asked Peck. 

This sudden jump from the certificate to the Bennochs, rather 
more disconcerted Weazel, who stammered a good deal in re- 
plying, and made Peek feel more than ever convinced there 
was some roguery which had been worked by Weazel, and 
w hioh was connected with the Bennochs, and with the certifi- 
cate ; for it must be borne in mind, that Peck knew little of 
law, or of the exact merits of the case of Bennoch and Lori- 
mer, and was therefore not aware that the cause had actually 
turned on the question of Bennoch’s legitimacy. 

“ Have you ever heard anything of Peg?” asked Peck. 

“ Not a word, the hussy !” answered Weazel, who was glad 
of a change of subject, though even this one was not the most 
agreeable in the world, for reasons we shall find out some day. 

“ I saw her once since she left you,” said Peck, as if telling 
nothing remarkable. 

“ You did ? when ? where ?” 

“ 1 saw her a long ways north ; she was in most respectable 
service, but I don’t mean to tell you where, because I promised 
I wouldn’t.” 

“Ah ! very well,” answered Weazel. 

“ I wonder whose child she could have been ?” continued 
Peck, half-thinking aloud. 

“ What does it matter ? why do you think about it at all ?” 
asked Weazel, rather sharply. 

“ Because 1 think she’ll find out some day ; she’s very sharp, 
and I’m not sure she’s not on the scent now.” 

“ Nonsense, nonsense,” said Weazel, hastily, “she’s the child 
of some tramp, of course, who left her at the door of that mi- 
serly old rogue, Todd. A precious fool he was to take care of 
her, and leave her on my hands.” 

“ I don’t think he’d have done that voluntarily,” said Peck. 

“ I wish he hadn’t done it at all,” answered Weazel. 

After a little further chat on various topics of no great inte 
rest, Mr. Peck, who was daily improving in intelligence, as if 


“AECADES AMBO.” 237 

his constant whirl on the railway had shaken up and enlivened 
his wits, took his departure. 

Weazel felt extremely uncomfortable after he had gone. He 
was a thorough rogue, but a terrible coward into the bargain, 
so that he was destined to be in a constant state of fear from 
the consequences of his own deeds. A sort of retribution this ! 

Two hours later in the day, a handsome cab stopped at Wea- 
zel’s door, and Job Peck, jumping down from behind it, thun- 
dered such a knock on it as must have astonished the knocker 
and the neighborhood, and was distinctly audible even to the 
old servant herself. 

“ Mr. Falcon,” screamed the old woman. 

“Show him in, you old screech-owl,” was her master’s reply. 

Mr. Falcon walked in, and gave a slight nod to Weazel, who 
handed him a chair, and begged him to be seated. 

“ I dare say you guess what I’ve come about,” said Falcon, 
in an easy, off-hand manner. 

“Not exactly,” said Weazel, with an obsequious bow. 

“ Is there anybody within hearing ?” asked Falcon. 

“No one ; my old servant is as deaf as a post.” 

“ So much the better — now, then, to business. Your friend 
Mr. Peck, my groom’s brother, has just been with me. Why, 
sir, I know your whole game — you’re a forger 

W eazel shook with rage and fear ; he positively could not 
move neither hand nor foot ; not even tongue or eyes would 
do their office, so completely paralyzed was he by this abrupt 
announcement. It was a master-stroke on the part of Falcon, 
for he saw immediately a confirmation of what he had said, 
written as plainly as if in black and white. Had he approached 
the subject carefully, beat about the bush, hinted, cross-ques- 
tioned, and so forth, Weazel would have been on his guard, and 
was so skilful of fence, that it is doubtful whether Falcon would 
have learnt what he wished to know. But by blurting out as 
an approved fact what in truth he only suspected^ he had jumped 
straight into the needful proof of it. 


238 LORIMER LITTliEGOOD. 

“ You see it’s of no use to play any tricks with me, or to re- 
sort to any subterfuges. Here is what you have done. You 
knew that your drunken friend Bennoch was illegitimate. You 
• were determined to make him out legitimate ; you went to 
Stumpington, and managed to tear a leaf out of the register ; 
you then forged a copy of a certificate of marriage between 
Bennoch’s father and mother, purporting to be copied from the 
very page you had torn out. You did the signature of the 
parson quite correctly ; imiocent people swore it was a true 
copy ; your case was proved. You outrageous scoundrel !” 

And here Mr. Falcon looked so indignantly virtuous, that 
the trembling and scared Weazel began to think he had made 
a mistake in his character altogether. 

“Now, sir,” cried Falcon, “what have you got to say for 
yourself?” 

“ What are you going to do ?” gasped Weazel. 

“ What am I going to do ? what should 1 do, but send for 
an officer, and give you in charge at once ?” 

“You’ve no proofs,” said Weazel, trying to pluck up a little 
courage, as the first horror passed off. 

“ Haven’t I ? — we’ll soon see about that,” answered Falcon, 
with a laugh. 

That laugh, however, spoilt his game, and gave Weazel cou- 
rage. As some of the little man’s faculties recovered in some 
measure from their sudden paralysis, he began to reflect in his 
usual cunning way, and the result was a conviction that if Fal- 
con had meant to proceed to extremities \^ith him at once, he 
would not have come to his house publicly, as he had done, 
but would have had him arrested by the police at once. Still 
he judged it safer to be very cautious, and to show not too 
much confidence. 

“ Excuse me for suggesting,” said Weazel, “ that supposing, 
for the sake of argument, I had done what you say, your giving 
me in charge and proving the accusation, would be simply de- 
priving your clients of their property.” 


•‘AKCADES AMBO.” 


239 


« Well f ’ 

‘‘Well; I don’t think you would wish to do that,” said 
Weazel. 

“Wish to do it; perhaps not; but what alternative have 
1 ;” asked Falcon. 

“ The alternative, even supposing your accusation were true, 
of holding your tongue,” suggested Weazel. 

“ Compromising a felony !” 

“ 1 beg your pardon : but I told you just now, you had no 
proofs. And permit me to observe that you are not bound to 
seek for any in an accusation grounded on mere absurd sur- 
mises. Hold your tongue, and I don’t see who suffers by it — 
certainly not yourself.” 

“ And most certainly not yourself ^ my litlle man,’' answered 
Falcon. “ Upon my soul, you’re a capital pleader.” 

“ 1 always thought 1 ought to have belonged to that profes- 
sion,” said Weazel. 

“ The devil you did ! a nice black sheep you’d have added to 
the flock. But wait a minute, sir ; I find that you have ob- 
tained altogether about a thousand pounds from the late Mr. 
Bennoch.” 

“ He owed it me—” 

“Tut, tut,” interrupted Falcon. “1 know all about that. 
First then, sir, listen to this — that sum of one thousand pounds 
must be paid to me within one week 'of this date.” 

“ You’re joking— V on don’t mean it,” cried Weazel, in alarm. 

“1 never joke on matters of such a nature,” was the quiet 
reply. “That sum must be paid me within one week or — a 
police office — that’s all.” 

“ It’s impossible,” cried Weazel. 

“ Therefore it will be done,” answered Falcon, parodying 
Necker. 

“ I haven’t got the money,” said Weazel. 

* “Not exactly in your pocket, I dare say, but nevertheless 
you’ll get it.” 


240 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ I won’t — fury and — ” and he jumped from his seat, and 
seemed as if he were going to throw himself upon Falcon. 
But the latter was no coward, and was certainly more than a 
match for Weazel in bodily strength. So he sat quite com- 
posedly, while the little man gnashed his teeth and stamped on 
the floor. 

“ I defy you !” he cried ; “ I defy you — do your worst. 
You want to rob me — you shan’t — do your worst and may 
you—” 

“Don’t swear, it’s very offensive,” said Falcon; “then we 
quite understand one another. I shall consider it my duty to 
stay here while my servant drives to the police station and pro- 
cures an oflicer.” 

So saying he threw up the window to call Job. 

Weazel laid his hand heavily on Falcon’s arm, the latter 
turned. 

“Be still,” cried Weazel ; “ I’ll— I’ll— ” 

“All right — one week then — good-day.” And carelessly 

humming an air, Falcon left the house and drove home. 

Midnight had come, and still W eazel’s haggard face was hid- 
den in his hands, as he rested his bursting head on the table 
and moved not. 


OVER THE WATER. 


Ml 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

OVER THE WATER. 

There are worse places in the world than Boulogne-sur-Mer. 
If the society there be not of the highest class, it is pleasantly 
accessible ; if it be not of the purest in point of morals, it is easy 
and amusing. Fastidious people should religiously shun it, for 
their notions are quite certain to be shocked during the first 
twenty-fours of their stay. No one should take his maiden 
aunt, from whom he expects a good legacy, to spend a summer 
at Boulogne, and introduce her to the general run of people to 
be niet in the lively watering-place ; or she may happen to 
form unfavorable opinions as to her nephew’s tastes, predilec- 
tions, and associates. A clergyman of the strictly evangelical 
school will hardly find the Boulognese to his taste, and Quakers 
are certainly scarce within its precincts. There are handsomer 
towns, more attractive watering-places, more fashionable com- 
pany, than Boulogne and its belongings ; but for easy going 
mortals — sinners such as the world in general is composed of 
— we repeat that there are worse places in the world than 
Boulogne-sur-Mer. 

Thither sped Lorimer Littlegood, in the good steamer 
Princess Celestine, with a hundred other true Britons of both 
sexes. After all, there is more variety of life to be seen on 
board a steamer than anywhere else until sea sickness begins, 
and then all, or nearly all, are alike. On this occasion the 
weather was fine and the sea calm, and the merry faces of the 
passengers en route to Paris were not destined to be paled by 
sudden qualms, nor the sensitiveness of young lovers to be 


$12 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


r 


shocked by a sudden run to leeward, or a sudden demand for 
steward and cognac. 

There were all sorts of people on board : one or two noble- 
men with families, servants, and carriages and horses; one or 
two railway contractors rushing off to Paris to ask, perhaps, 
two or three questions of their confreres there, which would be 
answered in five minutes, but which were, nevertheless, worth 
a personal visit to the French capital, from being too moment- 
ous to be entrusted to the post or the electric telegraph ; one 
or two milliners and linendrapers going to seek fresh “ articles’^ 
of the latest mode^ to dazzle the eyes of the Cockneys ; a few 
fast men who found London for the present just a little too hot 
for them ; several members of respectable middle-class families, 
who looked upon a trip to Paris as the highest of earthly en- 
joyments, until they had tried it, when they generally were 
very glad to get home again, being thoroughly disgusted at the 
price of everything, the absence of tea and beer, and the ex- 
traordinary way in which Parisians pronounce their own lan- 
guage, so completely unlike the accent of Clapham and High- 
gate. There were a few Frenchmen, happy enough to return 
to their belle France^ but by no means looking so ; for it is a 
remarkable fact that a Frenchman always looks wretched on a 
journey, and especially on a steamer. He is usually muffled 
up from head to foot, whether at Christmas or in the dog days ; 
never changes or washes himself before starting, and alto- 
gether resembles a Houndsditch Jew in wet weather, more than 
a civilized Christian. All these people, and a great many more 
(we forgot to mention the two authors who were going to look 
out for theatrical novelties in Paris, to translate into “ original” 
})ieces for the London stage) stared at one another in the ordi- 
nary and approved style, and stared at the sea and the sky, and 
the smoke from the funnel, and the machinery of the engines ; 
but of course nobody spoke to anybody, unless the anybody 
and nobody had been duly introduced to one another in former 
days. 


OVER THE WATER. 


243 


Lorimer Littlegood was not silent, and as he was too much 
of a gentleman and an Englishman to speak to a stranger, we 
may be sure he had friends on board. And, indeed, one of the 
ycaing ladies whom he addressed was very pretty, and seemed 
to be so pleased with his conversation, that more than one man 
on deck envied Lorimer ; and more than one young lady felt 
that it would not be absolutely disagreeable to change places 
with the pretty young lady in question. 

“ You’ve been in Paris before, of course asked the young 
lady’s mamma. 

“ Only once, and for a few days,” answered Lorimer. 

“ And you think it the most delightful place in the world, 
don’t you she asked again. 

“ It’s hardly fair in me to answer, perhaps,” said Lorimer ; 
“but I confess I admired it very much.” 

“ It’s the only place in the world fit to live in, that’s my opin- 
ion,” said a fast-looking man, joining in the conversation. He 
was the young lady’s brother. 

“ It’s really the only good place in the world to live in con- 
stantly. Take Rome — who the deuce could endure a summer 
in it ? Besides, you’re bored to death by people eternally talk- 
ing about the Coliseum, and the Forum, and the Pantheon, and 
everything else that you were sick of long before you left 
school. As for Naples, it’s very pleasant, and wicked, and all 
that sort of thing, but the summer is something terrific, and so are 
the mosquitoes and the beggars. Florence is a nice place, but 
too small. Berlin is detestable. Vienna is better, but Eng- 
lish are snubbed there. Brussels is all very well as a miniature 
edition of Paris ; but Paris itself is unrivalled.” 

“You leave London altogether out of the list,” said Lori- 
mer. 

“ Because it is infinitely below any of the places I have men- 
tioned. I leave it out as I leave out Dublin or Ispahan ; be- 
cause, I don’t suppose any body will contend that London has 
the slighest pretensions to be an agreeable place of residence.” 


244 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Nonsense, Fred, why should you abuse your own country t” 
cried his sister. 

“ I don’t abuse my country, not a bit of it. I am exceed- 
ingly proud of being a John Bull, I assure you. But there are 
two things I canH admire ; and those are my country’s climate, 
and iny country’s capital city.” 

“ Architecturally speaking?” asked some one. 

Fred burst out laughing. 

‘‘ ’Pon my soul I never thought of that at all. If you fancy 
1 care for Paris because it has finer public buildings than Lon- 
don, you’re greatly mistaken. I don’t care a fig for architec- 
ture, as long as the houses we live in are comfortable. 1 have 
scarcely any taste for sculpture — none for painting. I never 
read a guide-book in my life, and I believe that’s the way peo- 
ple usually get themselves up in the fine arts ; but what I like 
is Paris life. You can really live there — find something to do 
— never think of committing suicide, or getting married, or 
coining to any other frightful end ; but enjoy every day you 
breathe, and by the way, you can breathe in Paris, which is 
more than you can predicate of London.” 

But surely, Fred, there are places of amusement enough in 
London ]” said his mamma. 

“ Places of amusement ! Now, my dear good mother, will 
you tell me seriously that there are many amusing places in 
London ? Talk of educating the people ; whenever 1 hear or 
am told of that extremely heavy assembly, called the House 
of CJommons, discussing that subject, I always think what a 
vast pity it is they don’t first educate themselves, for ninety- 
nine out of every hundred of its members are lamentably un- 
educated on the simple subject of amusement. They prove it 
plainly enough when they talk about British Museums, Scien- 
tific Institutions, and National Galleries as places of amuse- 
ment and relaxation! We really have scarcely a place of 
amusement — that is, an antusing place — in London. 

“ Surely there are theatres enough !” 


OVER THE WATER. 


245 


“ Plenty of theatres : but who goes to them, and who ever 
comes away with the notion that he has been amused in them 1 
Frightful melodramas, bad music, farces spoilt from the French 
in translating, and spoilt a second time in the acting, varied 
with a little coarse buffoonery here and there ; ’pon my soul, 
I don’t know more melancholy places than the theatres of Lon- 
don.” 

“No doubt you prefer its casinoes,” said his mother, angrily. 

“ No, I don’t ; the^ ought to be much more amusing than 
the theatres, but they’re not. The genius of dullness has so 
laid hold of the Cockney public, that I’ve often thought they 
would have forgotten how to smile at all, if they had not had 
Punch to read, and Albert Smith to hear.” 

“ A propos, then,” cried his sister ; “ there’s one amusing 
place in London.” 

“ Exactly so : but then ” 

“ Stay,” said his sister. “ If the Egyptian Hall be really, now, 
in your opinion, an amusing place, and it is clear the Cockney 
public appreciate the amusement, why don’t we have more 
amusing places f ’ 

“ Because there’s only one Albert Smith, 1 suppose,” an- 
swered her brother. “ He has raised a small crowd of imita- 
tors, but that’s just a proof of English dullness : they can only 
imitate. Albert Smith’s success has been a legitimate one, 
earned by originality and wit. Why on earth cannot some- 
thing original and witty be given to us in some other shape — 
on the stage, or in any other form? I answer again, because 
there are no more originals — no more Albert Siiiiths. This is 
not so in France. Look how fresh amusements spring up 
every day in Paris : see what a flood of new romantic pieces 
constantly pours in — plenty of bad ones, no doubt, but many 
excellent, and none so bad as an English original piece of the 
present day.” 

“ Pardon me,” said Lorimer, “ but surely we have had one 
or two tragedies produced.” 


246 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Oh, if you call-five act tragedies amusing, I won’t enter 
the list of argument with you,” cried Fred, laughing, “for 
my part, I should as soon think of going to a funeral to raise 
my spirits, as to a theatre to find amusement in that horrible 
invention of barbarous ages — a tragedy.” 

The discussion ended, or rather Fred’s harangue, and Lori- 
mer found consolation in chatting with the sister. 

“ But you are not sure of going on to Paris, are you 1” ask- 
ed she. 

“ I’m sorry to say not : I’m in search of a runaway, as you 
know, and 1 feel remarkably like a detective policeman. I’ve 
traced him as far as Boulogne, but whether he has remained 
there, or gone to Pans, I cannot tell at present.” 

“ But he may have gone to many other places,” she said, in 
a "'one of a little more disappointment than she exactly wished 
to show. 

“ That’s not very likely,” replied Lorimer, “because Bou- 
logne leads to nowhere, except Paris. Calais, on the contrary, 
is on the highway of Belgium and Germany, besides Paris.” 

“ If you should succeed in getting back your property, will 
you not be very happy she said, after a pause. 

“ Upon my word, I don’t think 1 shall,” he answered, with a 
laugh. “ When I was ruined, as it is called, I fancied that 
nothing but a sentence of death or transportation could be 
more miserable than the fate allotted to me; and yet, in a 
month or two, here I am light-hearted, if not really happy, and 
contented, though I don’t know exactly how I am to exist from 
day to day.” 

“Were you not happy in your prosperous days, then?” de- 
finanded the young lady. 

‘ “ No : but I don’t mean to say I was miserable. The truth 

is I wanted mental occupation. I am perfectly convinced now 
that no man, with brains larger than a sparrow’s, can be happy 
long without employment of some kind.” 


OVER THE WATER. 247 

“ But what do the very rich do said she ; “ are they all 
unhappy 

“ On the contrary, I am inclined to think that the very rich, 
in our own country, are, or ought to be, the happiest of all 
people. But they have plenty of occupation, at least those who 
perform even a portion of their duties. There are estates to 
look after, and the poor on those estates ; there are parliamen- 
tary duties to be performed — no light ones in these times. 
There is the increasing knowledge of the age in every depart- 
ment of science and art to be kept up with. I don’t think a 
man with a hundred thousand a-year need have a heavy hour 
on his hands, while at the same time he is exempt from all the 
personal cares and privations which fret the mind and wear out 
the body.” 

“ 1 wonder how many who possess that wealth really do as 
you say she remarked. 

“ You wonder how many are happy,” he answered, “ very 
few 1 fear ! It seems to be man’s destiny to misuse his gifts. W e 
seldom look for happiness on the right road ; even if she be 
close at hand ; we probably look the wrong way, and hasten 
in pursuit of some ignis fatuus^ called pleasure. Still there 
are a few exceptions, and they suffice to show us what we all 
ought to do.” 

“ But — — she hesitated. “ Do you know I’m afraid you’ll 
take me for a mathematician in petticoats if I venture on an 
argument about such subjects. But if your theory be true, it 
would be impossible for the poor man to have the same hap- 
piness as the man of large wealth.” 

“ It would,” replied Lorimer, “ but, as we don’t live logi- 
cally ^ — and I suppose never shall, — I dare say the poor man 
q^uite as often does find happiness as a rich one, because he 
quite as often attains what his ideal of happiness is, though it 
may be far from tme happiness after all. What does it all 
prove? That there is no real happiness in the world, I sup- 
pose! I really cannot say that such is the case, but theolo- 


348 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


gians tell us so, and we have all helped as much as we can to 
prove that they are right.” 

And now the Princess Celestine was approaching the two 
piers of Boulogne, between which she shot most dexterously 
into placid water, amidst the shouts of the captain in English 
and the yells of the French officials in French. And then be- 
gan the scene of everybody driving into the cabin for a cloak 
or a coat, or a shawl, or an umbrella, or a stick, or a myste- 
rious little parcel, or a bag or reticule of some kind. And then 
there was much fumbling in pockets for tickets, much scream- 
ing of mammas after vagrant offspring, much scolding of papas, 
much hurried whispering of young people whose conversation 
was not meant for everybody’s ear, much sacre-mg of men on 
shore and swearing of men on board, much crowding, jostling, 
and ill-breeding, while one by one the Princess Celestine’s pas- 
sengers stepped on shore, and marched between the ropes ex- 
tended from the Douane, to the entertainment of a great num- 
ber of people whose daily delight is to criticize the appearance 
of the newly landed, especially when the weather is rough. 

And inside the Douane, when their turn at last came, march- 
ed our friends, displaying two passports, one allowing Mr. 
Frederick Stanley, with his mother and sister, and the other 
permitting Mr. Lorimer Littlegood to travel to Paris and else- 
where. 

“ What hotel, my dear Fred?” asked Mrs. Stanley. 

“ I generally go to the Hotel des Bains,” was the reply, 
“but it’s not altogether pleasant sometimes at low tide and in 
hot weather. “ H6tel du Nord!” he cried to the twenty tou- 
ters, and immediately a vehicle belonging to that capital estab- 
lishment was at their service. 

“ Won’t you come with us, Mr. Littlegood ?” said Mrs. Stan 
ley, as Lorimer naturally hesitated to force his company on 
them. 

“ Come along, like a good fellow,” added Fred, “ you’ll re 
liove me from a deal of anxiety. I’m in a horrible fright when 


OVER THE WATER. 249 

I have the responsibility of two otherwise unprotected females 
on my shoulders.” 

Lorimer needed no second invitation, and the little party 
were soon set down at the Hotel du Nord, where they selected 
rooms, as the Stanleys did not intend to go on to Paris till next 
day, and ordered dinner, and made themselves as happy as 
possil)le under the circumstances. 

The history of this joint visit was simple enough. Lorimer 
was in search for Mr. Bosher, from whom it was now thought 
much valuable information might be got concerning his prop- 
erty. The Stanleys were on a trip to visit a friend in Paris, 
and happened to start on the same day with Lorimer. Of 
course this was a purely accidental circumstance. It is quite 
true that Ellen Stanley had chanced to mention to Lorimer 
that they should leave London on that day, but it is not to be 
supposed that so trifling a matter as that remained in his mind. 
No doubt their meeting was purely accidental, and quite unex- 
pected on either side. 


250 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 

“ And a mighty pretty cannon it was, too,” said an unmis. 
mistakably Irish voice. If ye keep up that game it’s little 
chance I’ll have with ye.” 

“ You’re a flatterer, Captain : you know your own skill so 
well that you can aflbrd to praise my play,” answered another 
smooth, oily, low-toned voice, unquestionably that of an Eng- 
lishman. 

“ Another ! By the powers you’re getting a-head,” cried the 
Irishman. “ Forty-one plays twenty-nine. Divil a chance for 
me ! ” 

“ Tm certainly getting into good practice,” replied the Eng- 
lishman ; and, elated with his skill, he made a miss and shot 
his own ball into a pocket besides. 

“ That’s a little bit of luck for me,” cried the Irishman. 
“ Thirty-two — forty-one. Now, then ! The deuce is in the 
tables, or the cues, or something,” he cried, as he scored nothing. 

His adversary played, made the cannon he intended to make, 
and accidentally pocketed the red ball also. 

Five more ! why you’d beat Jonathan himself if you kept 
on like that. Upon my soul it’s you'll have to give me points 
soon,” cried the Irishman. 

“ I was always considered a tolerably good player,” said the 
Englishman ; “ and, really, I think I’m improving.” 

‘‘ Of course ye are — improving a deal too fast,” exclaimed 
the Irishman. 

After a few more lucky strokes on the part of the English- 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTKE. 


251 


man, he had won the game. “ That^s two to you,” said the 
Irishman. “ Come, now, anyhow you’ll allow I can’t give you 
twenty.” 

“ Well, really, I’ve happened to be very fortunate ; but I 
think your superior play still justifies you in giving me twenty 
out of sixty.” 

“ My superior play ! Why, haven’t ye beaten me every time 
by more than the twenty I gave ye cried the other. 

“ We’ve only played two games, you see,” answered the 
Englishman, “ and one sometimes gets a little luck.” 

“ Luck ! — it’s the luck of old Nick ye have,” was the reply. 
“ It’s the same thing whether it’s play or luck, jf it beats me, 
isn’t it 

“ In one respect it comes to the same thing, certainly.” 

“ Exactly so,” answered the Irishman ; “ and I’ll tell you 
what, I find it mighty dry work being beaten.” 

The Englishman smiled. 

“ Shall we order a little ” 

“ Of course we will,” cried the other, ringing the bell without 
waiting for the conclusion of the sentence. “ Here, garpon-^ 
I say — dis-donc — bring some eau~de vie de Cognac^ and look 
alive — dej^Qchez-vousP 

The brandy was brought and mixed with a little cold water. 
Each gentleman sipped from his tumbler, and prepared for a 
fresh game. 

After a little parley as to the terms of the new game, the 
Englishman at length consented to play, receiving only fifteen 
out of sixty, instead of twenty as heretofore. Still his luck 
clung to him, and he again won the game. 

“ The deuce is in it,” cried the Irishman, who had lately been 
playing very wildly and missing strokes that he ought to have 
made. “ 1 won’t play any more.” 

“As you please,” said the Englishman; “you shall have 
your revenge another time.” 

“ Stay a minute,’’ cried the other, “ what do I owe you now?’ 


252 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Do you mean altogether asked his friend. 

‘‘ Yes, altogether.” 

The Englishman methodically took out his pocket-book. 

“ Let rne see,” he began : “ four games on Tuesday and four 
to-day, at five francs, that’s forty francs. Brandy on Tuesday, 
two francs. Two bottles of champagne yesterday, ten fanes. 
Two admissions to the theatre, last night, six francs. Loan on 
Monday, five francs ; ditto on Tuesday, five francs ” 

“ Hold hard ! — don’t go on any more,” cried the Irishman ; 
“ it isn’t a pedler ye’re dealing with, but a gentleman — just 
give us the total.” 

“ The whole,” said the other, smiling, amounts to ninety-four 
francs.” 

“ I tell ye what it is, then — I’ll play ye double or quits for 
the whole.” 

“ Double or quits ?” 

“ Yes, double or quits — I’ll owe ye double or nothing.” 

“ Really, I never play so high ” 

“ Nonsense — come on.” 

And the Englishman waived his scruples, and they played 
again. Let us look at the players. 

The Irishman was a tall, powerful man, with immense whisk- 
ers, a very flashy style of dress, an air of bold impudence, and 
a loud voice. The Englishman was a short, fat, sleek-looking 
man, with a polished, bald head, dressed in black, modest-look- 
ing and mild-spoken. His figure was scarcely elegant when 
beheld without coat and waistcoat, leaning over the table, with 
one leg elevated in the air, to enable him to reach some tempt- 
ing stroke. 

There was plenty of brain visible in either of the opponents, 
and though in the ordinary business of life you would be puz- 
zled to say which could better take care of his own interests, 
you would certainly stake odds on the Irishman being the bet- 
ter billiard player, even in spite of the games he had already 
lost. 


AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE. 


253 


The present one was much more closely contested ; and, 
after many changes of fortune, the Irishman at length won by 
two points. 

u We’re quits, then,” he said. “ Now, I tell you what it is — 
w'e’ll have one more game, and I’ll play you for the same sum 
• — 188 francs.” 

“ Oh, dear ! no,” protested the other : “ besides, you see I’m 
no match for you at only fifteen out of sixty.” 

“ Nonsense ; ye'll beat me three times out of four on these 
terms ; but I tell you what — I’ll give you twenty just for this 
once.” 

The Englishman kept sipping his brandy-and-water while the 
Irishman kept trying “fancy” strokes on the table and missing 
them. Several of them the Englishman felt sure he could have 
made himself. Whether the brandy or the temptation was too 
strong for his prudence we do not know, but he yielded and 
consented to play for 188 francs. 

The game seemed to be pretty well contested up to a certain 
point, when the Irishman, who had clearly been hitherto con- 
cealing his real power, “ came up with a rush,” as reporters 
of races say, and won easily. 

“And now, my boy. I’ll trouble you for 188 francs,” cried 
he, hitting the Englishman a hard smack on the back. 

“ You took pretty good care not to play like that till you 
had a stake worth winning,” growled the Englishman. 

“ What’s that ye’re saying, ye dirty little blackguard?” cried 
the other. “ Do you mean to cast reflections on my honor, 
eh! sir?” 

“ I mean to say you concealed your play,” replied the other, 
“ and I’m not going to be bullied by you, sir.” 

“ Ye mean to accuse me of cheating ? By Jabers! I’ll break 
every bone in yer skin, ye little thief of an attorney,” and he 
strode towards him, brandishing his cue in a most menacing 
style. 

“Go down on yer knees and beg my pardon, ye little thief,” 


254 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


he cried, “ or I’ll beat ye as black as yer own coat, or your 
own dirty deeds.” 

“ ril do no such thing,” said the other, retreating into a cor- 
ner. Police !” he began to shout. 

“They won’t understand English,” cried the Irishman, and 
he raised his cue and struck at him, but the little man warded 
the blow wdth his own cue. Nevertheless, his position whh 
this enraged giant in front of him was far from agreeable ; bat, 
just as the latter was aiming a second blow, the door of the 
room opened, and Lorimer Littlegood, with a glance of aston- 
ishment at the one and the other, seized the Irishman’s arm 
and arrested the stroke. 

“ Mr. Littlegood !” exclaimed the Englishman. 

“ Eh ! Littlegood ! the devil !” cried the Irishman. 

“ Good day, Mr. Bosher — good day. Captain Kelly,” said 
Lorimer, addressing both. “ Fm happy to see you both so 
well, and both in such good society. But Pm afraid there was 
some little dispute which I have interrupted.” 

“Now, Littlegood, this is the happiest day of my life,” cried 
Captain Kelly. “ To think of our meeting again like this.” 

“ You didn’t expect it. I’ve no doubt,” said Lorimer, with a 
smile. 

“ Me dear fellow, it’s a happiness I never ventured to hope 
for. And to think of Mr. Bosher being a friend of yours — 
dear me ; why, you never mentioned it, Bosher ; let me shake 
hands with you, Bosher ; all our quarrels are over, now that I 
know you’re a friend of the best friend I ever had.” 

“You’ve an odd way of treating your best friends, I must 
say, Captain,” remarked Lorimer. 

“ Oh, me dear fellow, I see you’re mistaken about that little 
affair of Lavers ; I’ll explain it all to you. But don’t let me 
detain you — I dare say you’ve business with Bosher — good 
day. Can’t you just scribble an I .O U ?” he w'hispered to the 
attorney. 

“Here’s the money, sir,” answered the latter, handing the 


AN UNEXPECTED KENCONTEE. 255 

Captain the 188 francs — a larger sum than he had touched for 

many days. 

The Captain left the room, and Lorimer and Mr. Bosher 
were left alone. 

“You are rather surprised to see me,’^ said Lorimer. 

“ Yes, certainly, I really am,” was the reply, rather con- 
fusedly uttered. 

“ Will you step with me to my room,” said Lorimer, “as I 
wish to have some conversation with you, and a billiard-room 
is scarcely a convenient place for discussions like ours *?” 

Bosher made a bow, and followed him. 

After dinner at the Hotel du Nord, Lorimer casually in- 
quired of the waiter whether he happened to know a gentleman 
of the name of Bosher. The yargon confessed he had not, to 
his recollection, heard that name ; but then English names 
were very difficult to remember, and besides, he found that 
gentlemen were often inquired after there by quite different 
names from those which they had given themselves. He sup- 
posed some English gentlemen had a nom de voyage^ as well as 
their ordinary one. All this he uttered with much gravity, so 
that it was impossible to say whether he was laughing in his 
sleeve or not, for a French gargon excels even the best-trained 
English waiters in preserving an imperturbable countenance 
under trying circumstances. 

Lorimer, smiling, proceeded to describe Mr. Bosher’s rather 
peculiar personal appearance. The gargon suggested that it 
very much corresponded with that of Monsieur Smith, who had 
been staying some time in the town, and had been for a few 
days at that hotel. 

“ Of course it’s Smith ; he’s sure to be Smith or Jones here,” 
cried Fred. 

“ Not at all unlikely,” coincided Lorimer. “ Can you tell 
me where this Monsieur Smith resides now 

“ Yes, I can find out,” answered the gargon. 

In a minute or two he returned to say that Mr. Smith was . 


256 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


at that very moment playing at billiards in the hotel billiard 
room, with Monsieur le Capitaine. 

“Who’s hcP asked Fred Stanley. 

“ His name I forget; but he is a very grand captain, who 
has been all over the world, and fought everywhere, and is 
very brave indeed.” 

“No doubt,” said Fred ; “ that is to say, that is his own ac- 
count of himself — a very modest one, certainly.” 

“ Stay a moment,” said Lorimer ; “ it would be rather odd 
if I should happen to know Monsieur le Capitaine also. What 
is he like ? Is he a tall man, with big whiskers, and a loud 
voice, and showy dress, and an Irishman 

“ Mais oui^ si, s^,” answered the g argon, 

“ Kelly, I have no doubt,” cried Lorimer. 

“ What, the fellow that pounded Lavers so awfully in bed 
asked Fred. 

“Yes,” said Lorimer, coloring slightly, and glancing to- 
wards Miss Stanley, as he remembered how abominably her 
name had been mixed up with that affair. 

She looked even more embarrassed than himself, but Mrs. 
Stanley, like a good-natured woman as she was, came to their 
rescue with some laughing remark, and Lorimer left the room 
to seek his friends. 

He found them just at the critical moment we have de- 
scribed. 

Captain Kelly and Air. Bosher had picked up a kind of coffee- 
room acquaintance at Boulogne, and were accustomed to lounge 
about a good deal, and play an occasional game at billiards to- 
gether. The Captain was, as usual, living on his wits ; but 
those excellent commodities had not brought him very good 
supplies of late, so that he was keenly looking out for a well 
feathered pigeon to pluck. He soon discovered that Bosher 
had money, and he determined to bleed him as far as possi- 
ble ; but it was harder work than he anticipated, for he had 
an old bird, and a cunning one, to deal with. 


AN UNEXPECTED KENOONTKE. 


257 


When Bosher and Lorimer were alone, the former certainly 
looked rather disconcerted. But after a little reflection, it 
seemed to him that he had no special cause to be afraid of his 
client, for certainly he had fought his case out to the last ; he 
did not owe him money ; he had done him no special wrong. 

“ We were all rather surprised at your sudden departure 
from England, Mr. Bosher,” began Lorimer. 

“ My dear sir, I really could not help myself. I trust to do 
my duty to everybody ; but affairs had lately gone very un- 
fortunately with me, and that suit of yours completed my 
troubles.” 

“ It is precisely about that suit that I have come to you,” 
said Lorimer. 

“Then our meeting is not one of chance?” asked Bosher. 

“ Certainly not. I am over here for the express purpose of 
seeing you,” answered Lorimer. 

This reply by no means gratified Mr. Bosher, who wdshed 
particularly to know how Lorimer had found him out; but 
this his young client declined to teli him. He merely informed 
him that having heard that he, Bosher, was over in Boulogne, 
he had come over to iiupiire many things of him ; especially 
as to what was the positive truth regarding the transaction 
between Bill Bennoch’s father and Loriiner’s grandfather. 

“ I don’t see what necessity there can be for any conceal- 
ment in the matter,” he said, because nothing that you tell 
me can possibly injure yourself now; besides, if the publica- 
tion of it to the world could do so, 1 pledge my solemn word 
to keep it secret, however prejudicial the secrecy may be to 
my own interests. 1 have lately been advised by a kind friend 
in your owm profession, and he tells me this : it is of no use 
for me to attempt to crush the claim of the present possessors 
of our property on the ground of Bennoch’s illegitimacy, sup- 
posing that could be proved (as he thinks it could) unless I 
first know whether I could recover the property on the other 
ground — that it w^as not wrongfully obtained by my own grand- 
father. W’^ill you tell me this?” 


258 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Bosher was silent for some time, as if in reflection. last 
he answered : 

“ I will ; you shall have the whole history. But I shaL j^ive 
it you in writing, for it is a long and sad story. The da> 
to-morrow I will place it in your hands,^’ 

“ May I depend on that 
“ You may.” 

They parted for the present. 


. S HE JEALOUS? 


259 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

IS HE JEALOUS? 

Let it not be supposed that Lorimer Littlegood was so com- 
pletely engrossed with his anxiety about the communication he 
was to deceive from Mr. Bosher, as to think of nothing else. 
So far from this being the case, his thoughts were much more 
occupied with another subject. Was he, or was he not, to go to 
Paris ? This question actually appeared, for the time, more 
important in his eyes than any other. On Mr. Bosher’s reply 
depended perhaps his future prospects in this life — his ease and 
comfort, or his privation and poverty. On his journey to Paris, 
what could depend but a little temporary amusement ? So he 
thought, at least, and therefore he was, of course, highly cul- 
pable in setting his heart on it so strongly. Yet if he could 
have looked a little farther into futurity, or even if he could 
have understood his own feelings a little better, he would have 
seen that his fate might depend quite as much on the Paris trip 
as on the lawyer’s letter. How often are we watching with 
eager anxiety the turn of some great event on which we be- 
lieve our destiny to hang, while some trivial occurrence of the 
moment which may really influence our whole future life is un- 
heeded or unnoticed. 

The question of the Paris trip was half solved for him by 
Bosher himself, for early in the morning he received the fol- 
lowing note : — 

“ My dear Sir, — I have written an account of the transac- 
tions on which you wish for information ; but before sending it 


2G0 


LORIMER LITTLEQOOD. 


to you, must have your written promise not to read, or even 
open my communication, until you have entirely left this place. 
1 presume you will go either to Paris or London. Wait till 
you reach one or the other, therefore, before you break the seal. 
I await your answer. 

Yours, 

“ J. Boshkr.” 

“ What had I better do, Stanley asked Lorimer, showing 
the letter to Fred at the breakfast table. 

« Do 2 — do what he tells you. Here, waiter, bring pen, ink, 
and paper. Now, Littlegood, write as I dictate. Call the old 
thief ‘ My dear Sir,’ of course, and now go on — ‘ I am starting 
for Paris with some friends.’ ” 

“ But,” said Lorimer, hesitating — “ that’s just the question.” 

“There’s no question about it,” said Fred ; “ tell him you 
are off with us by the eleven o’clock train ; so you won’t read 
a line of his last dying speech and confession till you get to 
Paris.” 

“ I’m half inclined to think I ought to return to London,” 
said Lorimer. 

“ I’ll be hanged if you ought,” cried Fred ; “ it would be a 
most base and un-christian like act on your part towards me. 
How am I to take care of these two respectable and otherwise 
unprotected females 

“ Thank you,” said Ellen, bowing. 

“ But,” observed Lorimer, “ you are going to stay with 
friends, I believe ?” 

“ They are — not I,” answered Fred. “ You wouldn’t catch 
me going to take up my quarters with Mrs. Byerly Thomson — 
the woman would talk me to death in an hour. But on second 
thoughts, I will go to a friend’s, and you shall come too. Jack 
Fenton will be delighted to see both of us ; and as he has very 
good quarters and plenty of money, we’ll turn in there. Re- 
gard your visit to Paris, my dear Littlegood, as a /ail ao 
compUy 


IS HE j'EALOUS? 


261 


Lorimer was not likely to resist long ; so he sent Bosher a 
note giving the required promise, received subsequently a 
packet from that gentleman, and at eleven o’clock took his seat 
in the train opposite Miss Stanley, Fred being next him, and 
Mrs. Stanley vis-a^vis to her son. 

What an improvement this on the diligences,” said Mrs. 
Stanley. 

“ Yes,” answered her son : “people are to be found ip Eng- 
land who regret that the good old coaching days are past — they 
cannot any longer get boxed up in a little hole, where they 
could scarcely move, stifled with heat, dust, and dirty straw, or 
be rained upon by the pelting, pitiless storm outside, as they 
crept slowly up a long hill, cramped, numbed, cold, and moist. 
Deeply to be lamented, no doubt; but 1 never heard any one, 
French or English, regret that the horrid old days of diligences 
were over. I would rather submit to forty lashes from a cat- 
o’-nine tails that repeat a three-and-a-half days’ journey I once 
made in the depth of winter in the coupee of a diligence from 
Paris to Lyons.” 

“ Still we do lose the scenery in a railway train, Fred,” said 
his sister. 

“ So much the better in France — or at all events, between 
Boulogne and Paris, for anything more stale, flat, and unpro- 
fitable (except to the cultivators and owners thereof) than the 
country along this route it would be difficult to imagine. Even 
in England there is not much lost, for pretty as English scenery 
is, it is mostly very much alike, and won’t bear looking at long 
— you may see quite enough of it from the window of an ex 
press train.” 

“ You have no rural tastes, that’s clear,” said Lorimer. “ 1 
confess I have sometimes wished for a stage coach to drive 
through the pretty old-fashioned villages that I admire more 
than anything in England, instead of stopping at those hideous 
road-stations on the railways.” 

“ You have more poetry than I have,” answered Fred. ' 


262 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


‘‘ There’s very little of that left in England,” said Lorimer^ 
smiling. 

“ Do you really think so, Mr. Littlegood asked Ellen. 
“ It seems to me that each age complains of the decadence of 
poetry. Byron used to believe, or to say, at least, that there 
was no poetry left, while he was personally disproving his own 
creed.” 

“ He was the last of the poets of England, in my opinion,” 
answered Lorimer. “ Compare the poets of Queen Anne’s age 
with those of Queen Elizabeth’s, and see how the older ones 
surpassed the later ones in grandeur of thought and imagery. 
Let me tell you, however, that no one admires one of Queen 
Anne’s poets. Pope, more than I do. I thoroughly enjoy his 
works ; but still I enjoy them for their wit and wisdom — not 
for their poetry. He is the most delightful of versifiers ; but 
can you believe that he ever experienced the enthusiasm of a 
true poet on beholding the works of nature, or on reading or 
hearing of the heroic deeds of men ?” 

“ Queen Anne’s has been called the great age of artificial 
poetry, has it not f’ she asked. 

“ Yes ; but I don’t think the definition thoroughly correct — 
if by artificial they mean that men did not write poetry sponta- 
neously then, as well as in the days of Elizabeth. It was rather 
that they lived more artificial lives, were part of a more culti- 
vated society, and further removed from heroic times and the 
influence of heroic deeds.” 

“ Then you believe that the more refined society becomes, 
the more poetry declines 

“ Or rather,” said Lorimer, “ the more artificial society be- 
comes, the weaker and fainter becomes the poetic flame. In the 
present century there have been but two men gifted with the 
highest order of poetic genius — Scott and Byron — both Oi 
whom displayed a 'power worthy of the heroic ages. All the 
rest I should call milk-and-water poets, who write about flowers 
and running streams rather than the mighty passions of the 


IS HE JEALOUS? 263 

human heart, the great deeds of great men, or even flood and 
fell, the mountain, the storm, and the avalanche.” 

“ You speak like a maw,” said Ellen, “ for you show that 
you think power the highest quality poetry can possess.” 

1 am afraid I speak very dogmatically,” he replied, laugh- 
ing ; “ and I am sure very heretically in some people’s opin- 
ions ; but I assure you, I believe that poetry, without power, 
(and I know none of the present day that has any) is as little 
likely to live as wine without a good dash of brandy in it is to 
last long.” 

“ -d 'propos of which,” cried Fred, “ as we are stopping at 
this place, Amiens, will you two intellectual folks step out 
and taste some wine ? Littlegood can stick to brandy if he 
prefers it.” 

And the quartette entered the refreshment-room and ate 
with travellers’ appetites ; but Lorimer proved that if he liked 
spirit in poetry, he preferred drinking wine which contained 
but little of it. He even declined the petit verre after his cup 
of coffee, which Fred pronounced to be bad taste on his part. 

“ It’s a curious fact,” said Fred, “ that four or five years 
ago you used to get capital dinners at that station, whereas 
now you never see anything but a hecatomb of roast fowls, a 
very miscellaneous pie, bad soup, and roast beef. In this I 
trace the evil influence of J ohn Bull. The fellow will have 
something not only nutritive but solid to look at. I don’t 
like that pile of fowls with their legs in the air, and the crush 
and rush you have to endure to enable you to dig a fork into 
one and carry it off in triumph. The old table d'hote was far 
pleasanter, more satisfactory, and even cheaper.” 

‘‘You’re a dreadful gourmand^ Fred,” said his sister. 

“ A gourmet^ my dear girl,” he replied ; “ so much the better, 

‘ he who has not taste in cookery cannot have it in literature,’ 
says a certain novelist.” 

“ Whose own taste in literature is of the highly artificial 
kind,” answered his sister, 


264 


LOKIMEK LlTTLEGOOl). 


“ His poetry is like an omelette soxiffiee^ inflated, sweet, 
worked up with great care and labor, but unreal, unsatisfac- 
tory, artiftcial.” 

“ You’re a regular ‘ blue !’ ” cried her brother, “ Littlegood 
is looking frightened at you already —no wonder.” 

“ Indeed I’m not,” said Lorimer ; “ but I’m glad to find 
Miss Stanley’s opinion so exactly like my own on one point 
at least.” 

“ Do you read many novels 1” she asked. 

“Very few, yet I have read all of his.” 

“ And which do you like best 

“ The two last, because he had at length discovered a sub- 
ject best suited to his cast of mind.” 

“ But was not ‘ Pelham ’ equally well-suited?” she asked. 

“ Yes, quite so, to his mind as it then w-as,” answered 
Lorimer ; “ but I think it has made great progress since then, 
though it has pursued no direct course. Bulwer sets the 
highest value on labor and perseverance in the pursuit of any 
art ; and yet, strange to say, he has never steadily persevered 
in any one path of literature himself. He began with a fash- 
ionable novel (I omit the crude affair which has never been 
reprinted and may be considered as rejected by its author) 
then he gave us a semi-domestic one, then we had classic 
ones, sentimental ones, high way -heroic ones, historical ones, 
till at last we got to Shandean ones. And here at last I 
think he has discovered his real forte. He has not a clas- 
sical mind, he is too fond of ornament and frippery ; his his- 
torical portraits smack a little of melodrama ; his highwaymen 
are simply sentimental ruffians, utterly absurd creatures al- 
together. But his satire, learning, knowledge of life, and ap- 
preciation of character make his last two novels the most 
delightful reading of the present day, always excepting 
Thackeray’s works.” 

“ Which I do not heartily like,” said Ellen. I 


IS HE JEALOUS? 265 

“ Some day I hope to convert you,” rejoined Lorimer, 
laughing. 

And chatting thus, and on a dozen other subjects it is sur- 
prising how quickly time flew by till they reached Paris. 

Here the party separated ; for after seeing Mrs. and Miss 
Stanley safe in Mrs. Byerly Thomson’s house, Fred and Lori- 
iner drove to the elegant bachelor’s residence of Mr. John 
Fenton. 

This gentleman had an apartment of seven or eight rooms, 
on the first floor of a house in one of the best streets. The 
rooms were furnished in the best taste, with perhaps a little too 
much “ fancy but still the error was on the side of refine- 
ment. 

“ Your master in asked Fred of the servant. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Take in this card.” 

In a minute the servant returned, and ushered in Fred and 
Lorimer. 

“ My dear Fred, I’m delighted to see you. You’ve come 
to stay with me 

“ Yes, if you can accommodate my friend Mr* Lorimer Lit- 
tlegood also,” and Fred introduced him. 

“ Only too happy ; the longer you both stay the more con- 
tented shall I be.” 

Lorimer expressed his gratitude, and while Mr. Fenton 
was giving instructions to his servant about the luggage and 
the rooms for the new comers, he had a little opportunity of 
noticing his host. 

Jack Fenton, as he was termed by his intimates, was a 
man of about eight-and-twenty years of age, small in stature 
and slightly built, but nevertheless of admirable proportions, 
and of most winning manners and address. His face was 
positively rerharkable for its extreme and almost feminine 
beauty, so faultless was each feature, so delicately fair the com- 
plexion, so luxuriant and curling his bright brown hair. You 
18 


266 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


would certainly have pronounced his appearance effeminate, 
and you would have still further been convinced that he was 
so himself from the style of his furniture. Yet Jack Fenton 
was the best fencer, boxer, rider, swimmer, and shot in his 
circle, and that was a pretty extensive one. His delicate look- 
ing limbs had muscles of iron, and his personal strength 
quite confounded strangers. He had done the most daring 
deeds, his cool courage on all occasions was proverbial, his 
tastes were manly. An Irish friend once called him “ a 
miniature giant,” which was at least expressive. 

Lorimer knew nothing of all this, and only thought what a 
good-looking little petit-maitre Mr. John Fenton was. 

“ Charming rooms these, Mr. Fenton,” said Lorimer. 

Don’t tell him so ; he’s horribly conceited about them,’ 
said Fred, laughing. 

“ What, mv old cynic!” cried Jack: “not a bit reformed 
yet, eh r 

“ 1 believe I do come over here, always with an extra stock 
of bile, after six months of the fog and beer of my native 
land,” replied Fred. 

“By the way, my dear Fred — your sister, how is she 

“ She’s here in Paris.” 

“You don’t say so; now I am delighted,” cried Fenton. 

And he looked so extremely pleasant, that Lorimer could 
have wished that he had been less so. 

“ I’m sure she’ll be devilish glad to see you,” replied Fred ; 
“for you are tremendous allies.” 

“I hope so,” said Fenton. “Now let me shew you 
your rooms,” and he conducted his guests to two exquisite 
bed chambers. 

“ They communicate with one another, you see,” said Fenton. 

“ So much the better ; if I have the nightmare I can call 
up Littlegood,” said Fred. 

When they were alone, Fred let Lorimer into his friend’s 


IS HE JEALOUS 267 

real character ; describing him as one of the best, cleverest, 
and most manly fellows in the world. 

“ As for my sister,” said Fred ; “ I believe she thinks there’s 
no man to compare with him in the world,” — at which Mr. 
Lorimer Littlegood felt scarcely delighted, and detected him- 
self blushing — though surely it was no business of his, and 
merely another good proof of the excellent taste of Miss 
Ellen Stanley. 

Still it is a remarkable fact, that when left entirely alone 
in his chamber, Lorimer sat down and remained in a state 
of complete abstraction for at least an hour, never attempting 
to open Mr. Bosher’s packet which lay before him. Rousing 
himself, at length, after his unsatisfactory reverie he broke 
the seals to learn his fate. 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOU. 




CHAPTER XXXV. 

MR. falcon’s guardianship TERMINATES SUDDENLY. 

From the time when Mr. Falcon’s guardianship of Dick 
Bennoch commenced, affairs went very differently in the es- 
tablishment of Mrs. Bennoch. Pretending to treat her with 
all deference, and almost to wait for his advice to be asked 
before giving it, the attorney in reality became complete mas- 
ter of the household. With all her natural keenness, Mrs. 
Bennoch never imagined evil of Falcon, never detected the bad 
expression of his countenance, never suspected that he had 
interested motives in the attention he bestowed on all that 
concerned herself and her children. This is not surprising, how- 
ever ; if Falcon had been one of her own class she would have 
been on her guard, but it never struck her as possible that the 
rich gentleman whose house was far more elegant than hers, 
and who drove such fine horses, and kept such gay company, 
could be actuated by anything but kindness in the assistance 
he afforded her. People are very apt to forget that the same 
passions are at work in the breasts of the very highest and 
the very lowest in the social scale. A monarch may feel envy, 
hatred, and malice, or love, friendship, and charity, equally with 
the poor artizan. Nay, there is one vice more common among 
tlie higher classes than the lower; and that was the very last 
that Mrs. Bennoch would have suspected to be lurking in the 
bosom of Mr. Falcon. Yet, if she had seen the look that the 
roue lawyer occasionally cast on her darling Rose when no 
others were present, she might have trembled for the sake of 
the child, whom she truly loved more than life itself. Young 


MR. FALCON’S GUARDIANSHIP. 


269 


as she still was, the girl herself, with true feminine instinct, 
was conscious of something wrong, and could not but shrink 
from her admirer ; though he was most kind, attentive, and 
conciliating in his manner to her, and if he could but have 
masked the expression of his features as well as he did the feel- 
ings of his heart, she might have thought him as charming as 
her mother did. Indeed she never dissented from the praises 
bestowed on him by her parent. How could she ? She could 
not point to a single act of his which was not stamped with 
kindness and consideration. 

Gradually, the young girl began to take herself to task, and 
demand seriously of her own heart whether she had any right 
to feel otherwise, than most warmly and gratefully inclined to 
this new friend, — whether she was not guilty of ingratitude, in 
even avoiding his presence as she often found means of doing — 
whether it was not wicked to judge him by mere looks. How 
could he help them ? had not God given them 1 

No, Rose, no ! God has given us the features ; we have our- 
selves made the expression. True, crime does not always 
proclaim itself in the countenance while dwelling in the heart, 
but that is from the care and vigilance with which some men 
lock it up in the innermost chamber ; yet even then it will oc- 
casionally look out of the window, and though we catch but a 
passing glimpse of it we know that it is there, ready for action 
in the hour of darkness. 

Strange were the contests of good and ill in the heart of 
this very girl. With warm and generous impulses, quick sense 
of gratitude, and even much disposition to truly religious sen- 
timents, there were mingled distrust, and cunning, and a cer- 
tain wilfulness — a desire to do what she ought not, because it 
was forbidden — which were doubtless the fruits of her former 
wretchedness and neglected condition. Her character still de- 
pended on future circumstances, and no one, who could not fore- 
see what these would be, could have predicted whether the good 
or the evil would eventually triumph. 


270 


'lORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Mr. Falcon’s guardianship of Master Richard Bennoch was 
not destined to last so long as might have been expected. 

Dick was amazingly fond of his “ governor,” as he now 
called him. At his own request he was no longer sent to board- 
ing-school, but to one of those excellent public seminaries in 
London, where four or five hundred boys learn to be scholars 
within the walls, and blackguards out of them. A different 
result could scarcely be expected, for once released from the 
school-room, they are under the guardianship of no one, but 
are free to do just what they like, to follow their own propen- 
sities. We know very well what Master Bennoch’s propensi- 
ties were, and he found plenty of disciples : for vice is nearly 
always more attractive to boys than good conduct. At all 
events Dick was well known at one or two of the public houses 
near his new school, and soon managed to establish a tick,” 
as he called it, at some of them. Mr. Falcon gave him plenty 
of pocket money, much more than he knew to be good for him, 
but the worthy gentleman’s plan of action was to thwart the boy 
in nothing, so as to make him feel so completely gratefull, that 
he would be able to refuse him nothing in return, when the 
right moment for asking a favor should arrive. 

And in the meantime the lawyer watched with his sharp, 
keen, cruel eye, the daily development of Rose’s beauties. 
Though a year younger than her brother, she seemed to be two 
or three years older ; and though still a child, her person was 
gradually assuming the graces and the form of a young woman. 
How the attorney chuckled as he thought of the two prizes he 
had secured for himself, and gloated over the ruin he was plot- 
ting for brother and sister ! 

Mrs. Bennoch was one afternoon sitting in the drawing-room, 
and mending stockings, an occupation which the good woman, 
far from regarding as hard work, considered a light, pleasant 
pastime. Rose was practising a song at the piano, and Master 
Dick, whose half-holiday it was, was rolling on the floor, and 
tormenting a cat almost to madness. 


MR. FALCON’S GUARDIANSHIP. 271 

Suddenly a tremendous knock resounded on the hall door. 
Dick jumped up, and ran to the window. 

“ Here’s the governor !” he cried : “ he’s got a new horse ; 
my ! what a stunner ! just look !’’ 

Mrs Bennoch did step to the window and look, while Rose 
began to glide out the r6om. 

“ Where are you going, dear cried her mother, “ it don’t 
look well. Rose, to run away just when Mr. Falcon is com- 
ing.” 

“ I’ll come back directly,” answered Rose, and she left the 
room. 

“ She’s only gone to make herself smart,” said Dick, gig- 
gling, “ that’s all girls think of. How are you, governor ?” he 
cried quite familiarly, as Falcon entered the room. 

But Mr. Falcon was too polite to notice the boy before his 
mother, to whom his manner was always most deferential. 

“We were admiring your horse,” said Mrs. Bennoch. 

“ He is handsome, is he not ?” said Falcon. 

“ He’s a stunner !” exclaimed Dick ; “ you must have paid 
an out-and-out sum for him.” 

Falcon smiled. 

“ But where is your daughter 1” he asked. 

“ Gone to make herself beautiful,” said Dick. 

“ Nonsense, Dick,” remonstrated his mother ; “ I’m sure 
Rose isn’t a bit vain. She will be here directly, sir.” 

Mrs. Bennoch always called Falcon “ sir there is nothing 
that under-bred people take such a long while to get rid of as 
“ sir,” “ ma’am,” and “ miss.” 

The conversation, which in spite of Falcon’s tact, was never 
very brisk between himself and Mrs. Bennoch, was beginning 
to flag when Rose entered the room. 

Her color was rather heightened, as it always was when Fal- 
con looked at her or addressed her ; but whether from pleasure 
is another matter. 


272 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ She’s looking most charming,” said the lawyer, turning to 
her mother. Dick managed to slip out of the room. 

“ I came, Mrs. Bennoch, to tell you 1 have an opera box at 
Covent Garden to-night, and as I know how fond your daughter 
is of music I hope you will honor me by coming to it.” 

“ I’m sure we shall be most happy ;■ shan^t we, Rose 

Rose was obliged to assent ; but though truly fond of music 
she would much rather have staid away from Mr. Falcon’s box. 
Falcon then went on telling them of the opera that was to be 
performed, and the singers that were to appear in it. 

But let us follow master Dick. As soon as he left the draw- 
ing-room, that young gentleman slipped down stairs, put on 
his cap, and went outside, where Job Peck was standing at the 
head of Mr. Falcon’s new horse, a magnificent thorough-bred 
bay, harnessed to a dog-cart. 

Job touched his hat, as in duty bound, to his master’s ward. 

“ He’s a fine un, ehl” said Dick. 

“ A reg’lar beauty, sir,” answered Job. 

“ I’m going to drive him a bit,” continued Dick, 

“ You !” exclaimed Job, “ excuse me, sir, but I couldn’t al- 
low it.” 

“ Who the devil wants your allowance cried Dick. 
“ Your master told me to come, and have a drive.” 

“ Then, perhaps, he meant I was to drive you,” said Job. 

“ No, he didn’t ; do you think I’d let a groom drive me?” 

“ Excuse me, sir, but I couldn’t let you get up unless I had 
master’s orders from his own lips.” 

“ Why, you ragmuffin,” cried Dick, who began to have a 
tremendous sense of his own importance, “ do you expect your 
master to take the trouble of coming down stairs to tell you 
himself?” 

“ He might just speak to me out of the window,” answered 
Job. 

“ Very likely — and my mother half-dead with the toothache. 
He won’t open the window. Come, I tell you what — just run 


ME. FALCON’S GUARDIANSHIP. 


273 

in and ask yourself whether I haven’t got leave, and I’ll stand 
by the horse’s head till you come back.” 

This proposition seemed reasonable ; so Job assented to it. 
Dick took his place at the horse’s head, and Job run up the ^ 
steps of the house and rung the bell. But as he did so, Dick 
seized the reins and sprung up with the activity of a monkey 
into the driving seat. 

The suddenness of his movement made the spirited horse 
bound forward, so that Dick was almost unseated at first start ; 
but he recovered himself in a moment. Job, perceiving the 
trick and fearing the danger, run after the dog-cart, on which 
Dick dealt the gallant bay a smart cut with the whip. Unused 
to such treatment, the horse dashed forward at a furious pace, 
but just as he whirled around the couner of the street. Job 
Peck managed to seize the back foot-board, and swing himself 
up on to it. 

‘‘For God’s sake, give me the reins, you young villain !” he 
cried. 

“ Go to ,” where was not heard amid the clatter of wheels 

over the paved streets. 

It is wonderful how Dick managed to guide the animal at all, 
unused as he was to driving, but somehow they passed along 
unharmed, though frightening plenty of people on their way. 

Job now saw that something serious would happen. It was 
doubtful whether he could prevent it even had he the reins, for the 
horse was clearly running away at full speed, and cared nothing 
for the bit. Twice did the wheels strike against a passing car- 
riage with force enough to send both vehicles spinning in op- 
posite directions, but not so as to make the wheels lock with- 
in one another. More than one person had been knocked down ; 
every one was shouting, and fear and consternation were on all 
sides. Yet they even managed to get clear of London streets, 
and dashed along one of the least frequented roads in the 
southern suburbs. On one side of them was an open country 
— no vehicle was seen on the road ahead of them ; but Job's 


274 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


quick 63^6 remarked that they were nearing a house where the 
road took a sharp turn to the left. If they could get round 
that corner in safety, there was yet hope. They near it — they 
reach it — madly the horse whirls them round it — there is a 
terrific crash — a scream of agony and fear — two bodies seem 
to fly into the air — the dog-cart is smashed to atoms, and the 
horse rushing on with the broken shafts at his sides. 

“ This one’s done for !” said some one among a crowd of 
grooms and ostlers, and other folks, assembled outside the 
“ Red Lion” Inn where the accident had occurred. He was ex- 
amining the body of poor Dick Bennoch. 

“ Here’s the other,” cried some one else : “ I don’t think he’s 
dead.” 

They were carried into the inn, and a surgeon was soon on 
the spot. Job Peck’s arm was broken; but poor Dick was 
really dead ! 

Job Peck came to his senses within ten minutes, and was 
enabled to tell the bystanders where he and Dick should be con- 
veyed. He w^as terribly shocked when he heard that the poor 
lad was actually dead, and could scarcely believe it; yet when 
he saw the corpse he could have little idea that a human body 
80 fearfully mangled could still be living. 

We need not tell of poor Mrs. Bennoch’s grief and shock, 
of Rose’s tears, and Falcon’s condolences. Not that Rose 
could have loved her brother much, for he had given little cause 
to any one to feel affection for him. But still, the horror of 
the sudden death, and the genuine grief of her mother, affected 
the young girl deeply. 

And Falcon too, lamented. For had he not lost his ward ? 
had he not — ah ! a new thought struck him — Rose was now an 
heiress ! 


CONFESSION AND SYMPATHY. 


275 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

CONFESSION AND SYMPATHY. 

It is .V vg Cime since we paid a visit to the quiet little cot- 
tage where Jessiie Littlegood and her mother resided. Cer- 
tainly it is a quiet out-of-the-way place, and there may be much 
sameness in the life of its inhabitants ; but we venture to opine 
that Miss Jessie Littlegood is at least as well worth looking 
after as any of the folks in whose company we have lately 
passed our time. But this is the way of the world : the noisy 
ones, who are eternally thrusting themselves into notice, and 
forcing you to attend to them and their deeds, meet with ten 
times as much respect as the modest and retiring, though the 
real worth, the real talent, or the real beauty will quite as often 
chance to be with the latter. If Jessie had assumed the airs 
of a distressed heroine when the lawsuit robbed them of their 
property, people would have considered her one ; and half the 
country would have come to pour forth their condolence into 
her ears, and perhaps even a little of their superfluous wealth 
into her purse. But because she was really a heroine, bore 
sorrow in silence, and labored with a good heart to make the 
good times which never come of their own accord, people took 
little notice of her, and though admitting her to be an “ esti- 
mable young person,” would have been quite astonished if you 
had told them that she was heroic. 

When will the world understand what heroism is % When 
will the false glitter of glory, the noisy trumpet of fame, the 
loud mob-oratory of patriotism, be all appreciated at their true 
worth 1 and the silent endurance, the lonely labor to do good 


276 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


without reward and without renown, wear the laurels of true 
heroism? Never! For while the earth endures, men will 
prefer greatness to goodness, power to wisdom, glory to truth. 
And even were it otherwise, the loud proclaimed honors of 
heroism would only distress and hurt the humble doers of good 
for good’s sake. 

Of all mortals who work for their daily bread, those whom 
we most pity are teachers. It is all very well for people sit- 
ting in their arm-chairs to talk about the high calling of those 
who instruct youth, the noble rew’ards of seeing the progress 
of their charges in knowledge and virtue, and so forth. But 
did one of these people, who talk so glibly on the subject, ever 
teach a child the alphabet ? If not, we strongly recommend 
them to catch some very young lady or gentleman who has not 
yet acquired that elementary branch of education, and begin 
the task. If they don’t find one hour of such work about the 
hardest they ever performed, the most w^earying, the most 
trying to the temper and patience, and apparently the most 
utterly fruitless, — then we are greatly mistaken as to the pow- 
ers of human endurance. What then must it be to teach twenty 
pupils, very young, mostly very stupid, often very ill-temper- 
ed, and never very attentive ? As for the rewards, it is utter- 
ly absurd to talk of such things ; and the chances are, that just 
as the poor teacher finds his or her little pupil emerging from 
the simple rudiments which it has cost so, much weary labor to 
instil, the child is removed for some paternal caprice, perhaps, 
because it had been seen crying when it came home, or because, 
being a little dunce, it has not got on so well as Mrs. Jones’s 
little girl who has three times as much brains, — or else to be 
placed in a finishing establishment, where eight different profes- 
sors attend daily, and get all the credit due to the first care of 
the poor preparatory school master or mistress. 

As for the anxiety, nothing can be greater than that of a 
truly conscientious teacher ; and to add to all other discom- 
forts, he or she has to please forty mammas and papas for every 


CONFESSION AND SYMPATHY. 277 

twenty pupils. Porty masters and mistresses to serve — in 
fact, with forty different educational theories of their own ! 
Because education is a subject on which every one, from Lord 
John Russell (who has halfa-dozen all himself) down to a 
ploughman, has a theory. People who have never learnt to 
read or write have quite as decided opinions as to what their 
children ought, or ought not, to be taught, as the best educated 
people in the world. We have met men who say, and main- 
tain, and argue, that “ the people” ought not to be educated at 
all ; but we never met a man who confessed that he knew 
nothing at all about the question. In fact, every Englishman 
thinks himself a judge of horseflesh and education. 

Jessie was good-tempered, patient, and gentle. Woe to the 
pupils when the teacher is not all three ! and woe to the 
teacher, also, whose body and mind will soon be worn out by 
the constant fretting and friction of irritated nerves. 

Her pupils were of all ages, from five to twelve or thirteen 
years of age, and had she not been as methodical as she was 
sweet-tempered, she could never have managed them all. The 
only assistance her mother rendered her, besides keeping one or 
two of the youngest to their tasks, was to be present in the 
school-room, and see that every one w^as attentive. And yet, 
strange to say, nearly all the parents were satisfied ; nearly 
all the children got w^ell through their tasks ; and all of them 
but one or two loved Jessie as dearly as their own mothers. 

But at night, when the work of the day, and the preparation 
for that of the morrow, was all over, it must be owned that the 
poor girl often felt sadly weary. Those who labor only with 
the hands, or only at some half-mechanical employment — mere 
daily counting-house and office work — can have little idea of 
the brain-weariness which affects those whose powers of reflec- 
tion, memory, and invention are called into constant action, 
and at times forced almost beyond their powers. It is a pros- 
tration of the nervous powers, a kind of stupefaction, which 
sleep or alcohol can alone relieve. But 1 strongly advise none 


278 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


to try the latter who would not gradually convert the temporary 
pain into a lasting disease. 

Jessie’s greatest pleasure was to hear from her brother; as 
to whose future she was still most anxious. 

One Saturday afternoon — a half-holiday— she and her mother 
were sitting in their little drawing-room, with the French win- 
dows leading to the lawn wide open. 

“ I wonder what will be the result of Lorimer’s visit to 
France, Jessie,” said the mother. “ Do you know I sometimes 
feel as if we should get back the property 1” 

“I cannot say that I do, dear,” replied Jessie; “but you 
know I am silly enough to think it better not to buoy ourselves 
up with hopes at all. We have found that it is possible to live 
without it ; why repine for the money then V 

“ But see how hard you have to work, my dear girl !” 

“ I don’t complain,” answered Jessie. 

“ No ; that’s true, my dear,” said her mother ; “ but Fm 
afraid you look very thin.” 

“ Fve always heard Lorimer say that a fat horse cannot 
work ; so I hope I am only in good working condition,” replied 
Jessie, laughing. “But about Lorimer’s visit to France. I 
dare say he will find Mr. Bosher ; but 1 don’t think he will ex- 
tract much information out of him. If he does, 1 fully expect 
it will turn out that this property was wrongully acquired by 
my grandfather and himself: he’s a bad man, I am sure.” 

“ Who’s that coming in at the gate f’ asked the old lady. 

“ Ah ! it’s the postman ; a letter from Lorimer, Fm sure,” 
and she ran out through the window, and met the postman. It 
was Lorimer’s handwriting, and the Paris postmark that met 
her eye. 

“ Come, and read it to me, dear,” cried her mother from the 
open window, for Jessie was already engaged breaking the seal. 

“ Yes, yes,” she answered, and was immediately in the draw- 
ing room again. 

“ My dearest Jessie — J/ r voiUi i But stay : first and fore* 


CONFESSION AND SYMPATHY. 


279 


most, let me tell you that we have no more hope of the pro- 
perty ” 

“ Why f ’ cried Mrs. Littlegood, interrupting. 

‘‘ Stay, my dear mamma ; let me read on.” 

“ By the enclosed copy of Bosher’s letter to myself, you will 
see (though 1 don’t believe all he says) that my grandfither 
was never rightfully entitled to it ; ergo^ we, his descendants, 
can have no claim to it. Still, I very much doubt whether the 
present possessors have much more right in law. The man 
Bennoch, who is since dead, was most likely illegitimate, and 
the certificate of his father’s marriage, a clever forgery of a 
little rascal named Weazel, whom, by-the-bye, I shall look 
after when I return to London. However, there is no need 
why we should disturb the present owners, when we cannot 
instal ourself in their places ” 

“ I don’t see that,” cried Mrs. Littlegood. “ Lorimer was 
very kind to that girl, and she ought to be forced to settle 
something on him.” 

‘‘ I am quite sure that Lorimer would never accept it,” an- 
swered Jessie ; “ but let me read on.” 

“So there, my dear Jessie, is an end of that matter, as far 
as we are concerned. Now for my trip. I met on board the 
Folkestone packet my friends the Stanleys — Mrs. and Miss 
Stanley, and her brother Fred. 1 think I’ve often mentioned 
them to you before. (Jessie smiled as she read this.) Fred 
is a very good fellow ; most good-tempered, amusing, and ec- 
centric. The mamma is a great favorite of mine, and seems 
so thoroughly convinced of my innocence in that abominable 
affair of Lavers, and so anxious to show me that I stand in her 
good graces as highly as ever, that I quite love her. As for 
her daughter (here Jessie’s eyes brightened), I think I told you 
that she is one of the nicest girls .1 know. On arriving at Bou- 
logne (no more about Ellen ! thought Jessie), they begged me 
to come to the same hotel with them ; and after I had discov- 
ered Bosher, in consequence of his extracting a promise from 


280 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


me that I would not read his ‘ confession’ till I had gone to 
London or Paris, I was persuaded to accompany them here. 
Mamma and daughter have gone to stay with a Mrs. Byerly 
Thomson, and Fred and I with a Mr. Fenton, a friend of 
Fred’s. This same Jack Fenton is a character. Picture to 
yourself a very pretty lady like little man, yet with the tastes 
of a gentleman, the courage and strength almost of a lion, 
well-read, easy-mannered, and altogether the most fascinating 
companion I ever met. He received us with the greatest kind- 
ness, and has insisted on my staying with him. The day after 
our arrival, we all three w’ent to call on Mrs. Byerly Thomson 
and her two guests. Miss Stanley’s warm reception of Jack 
Fenton proves her high estimation of him, and indeed her 
brother tells me she thinks there is no one in the world to com- 
pare with him ” 

“What are the tears in your eyes for, Jessie 1” asked her 
mother here. 

“ Nothing,” answ^ered Jessie, “ my eyes are rather weak, per- 
haps but to herself she said, “ Poor Lorimer ! I fear that 
this time his heart is touched ; and now it must be wounded, 
too.” 

“ In short, though they are both too w^ell bred to neglect 
others, they really conversed much more with one another than 
with any one else. Mrs. Thomson I have met in London. She 
is one of your gay, rattling women, whose tongues are never 
tired of talking, nor their feet of dancing. The only thing 
that could make her unhappy would be to condemn her to si- 
lence or stillness ; her purgatory will surely be, to be tongue- 
tied and fastened to her chair in a ball-room where the best- 
dressed people are whirling on all sides of her to the best of 
music. She booked us on the spot for more balls than I can 
remember, and I only put my faith in Fred, who will be duly 
instructed by his sister, to enable me to keep my engagements. 
After leaving the house, we went to examine Jack Fenton’s 
stu(^, for he keeps no less than eigljit horses here, and is very 


CONFESSION AND SYMPATHY. 


281 


rich. By-the-way, I don’t yet know why he lives in Paris, but 
certainly if I had his rooms, I should be loth to quit them, for 
they are exquisite ” 

“ 1 don’t like this man,” cried Jessie. 

“ Why not, my dear asked her mother ; “ I’m sure Lori- 
mer speaks of him in the highest terms.” 

Jessie made no reply, but read on : — 

“As this is my first day in Paris, I have little more to tell 
you. I don’t intend to stay here long ; indeed, I must think 
seriously of what I am to do next. Besides this, if you intend 
to read all Bosher’s last dying speech and confession, as Fred 
calls it, you will have enough to do without a longer letter 
from me.” And the letter concluded with affectionate mes- 
sages to his mother. 

But there was a postscript, and Jessie saw that it was 
marked, “ Read this aloneP 

“Alas ! my dear Jessie, I wish I had never come this fatal 
journey ! I doubt whether I am heart-whole now^ and yet 
there — I can see there is no hope for your poor brother.” 

And many a tear did Jessie shed that night for her dear 
Lorimer, 


19 


282 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


\ 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A DEPARTURE AND AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE. 

Mother Sh addles was not a prepossessing old lady in per 
sonal appearance. She had one leg shorter than the other, 
which did not improve her style of locomotion ; a pair of 
sunken, red-rimmed, yet sharp and cunning-looking eyes; a 
brown, withered skin ; a nose like a beak ; scanty yellow-grey 
hair, quite unacquainted with brush or comb ; long, scraggy 
arms, always bare to the elbows ; and a mouth which, when 
she laughed — as she did often most unpleasantly — displayed a 
set of fangs indescribably ugly and disagreeable. Our private 
opinion is that they did not close over or against one another, 
but that the top ones fitted in between the bottom ones, and 
vice versd. Such was the personal appearance of Mr. Weazel’s 
present domestic attendant. AVe have already stated that she 
was deaf; but she was not quite so much so as she wished 
people to believe. 

What she did all day long it would not be easy to say, 
though she was always halting about the house as if extremely 
busy ; but as WeazeFs abode was very dirty, his kitchen ar 
rangements on the most confined scale, and the personal atten- 
dance required by him not worth mentioning, Mother Shaddles 
must have possessed the art of appearing very active in the 
midst of idleness. 

Weazel had been very busy one morning — a day or two 
after Mr. Falcon’s visit to him— turning over papers in his 
desk, making memoranda, writing letters, and at times sitting 
absorbed in thought— not less busy then, perhaps, than whei] 


DEPARTURE AND SURPRISE. 283 

his hands were moving. Mother Shaddles was hobbling about 
the room, fumbling at the crockery on the shelf, dusting a chair, 
stirring the fire, and so forth, but always finding some excuse 
for being in the room where her master was sitting ; and very 
often Mother Shaddles might have been seen peeping over 
Weazel’s shoulder while he was quite unconscious of it. At 
length, however, he turned sharply round while she was 
doing so. 

“ What the devil do you want, you old hag he roared. 

“ There’s a power of dust on that table,” croaked the old 
woman, not the least disconcerted, ‘’mayn’t I dust it off?” 

“ Go and be hanged 1” was the courteous reply, while Mother 
Shaddles hobbled away chuckling to herself ; the good lady was 
enjoying the innocent pleasure of picturing to her mind’s eye 
her master in the state of “suspense” to which his words con- 
signed her ; for Mother Shaddles was convinced of nothing more 
certainly than that Weazel would one day be hanged. 

“ If the old beldame could read, I should be afraid of her,” 
muttered Weazel, “ but she’s as ignorant as she’s deaf.” 

So he continued in his reverie, and Mother Shaddles slunk 
ont of the room. The moment after w’ards the door-bell rang. 
Weazel listened for the old woman to go to the door, but heard 
no sound of her. 

“ Don’t you hear the bell ?” he bawled out. 

No reply ; and the bell rang violently again. 

In a passion he jumped up and ran into the back kitchen, but 
the old woman was not there (Weazel, by the way, was sitting 
as usual in the front kitchen) ; so, concluding that she had gone 
out or was at the top of the house, he went up-stairs to open 
the street door himself. While he was doing so. Mother Shad- 
dles glided out of a closet in the back kitchen, hobbled with 
wonderful quickness, and wdth almost noiseless step into the 
front room, ran up to Weazel’s desk, opened one end of it, 
seized a paper, glanced at it for a moment, thrust it into her 
pocket, and glided back to her closet. 


284 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Meanwhile Weazel had opened the street door and found no 
one ; so cursing the perpetrator of a ‘‘ run-away ring,” he re- 
turned to his desk. This he immediately closed and locked, 
and putting the key in his pocket, and taking up his hat, he 
prepared to go out. On the staircase he met Mother Shaddles 
descending, and looking just as usual. 

“ Don^t go out of the place till I come back ; do you hear ?” 

“ Ay, ay, I hear,” muttered the old woman, and Weazel left 
the house. 

Mother Shaddles, as soon as she was alone, went again to 
the desk. It was a small leather hand or travelling desk, with 
a first-rate Brahmah’s lock, for Weazel, though a miser, was 
not fool enough to trust his papers to a common cheap affair, 
for the sake of saving a few shillings. 

“ Locked, locked tight enough,” growled the old woman. 
“ No matter ; not much use to lock up the stable after the 
horse is stolen, ha ! ha ! IMl hang him ; I’ll hang him ! God 
bless us all ! I’ll hang him.” 

And so saying. Mother Shaddles laughed as if enjoying a 
capital joke, and looked more horrible than the best got-up 
witch we ever saw in Macbeth. 

“ It worn’t a bad dodge of mine to ring the bell, and make 
him go to answer it, ho ! ho ! leave Poll Shaddles alone for a 
dodge ' And he thinks I can’t read, ha ! ha ! And he thinks I 
can’t hear, ha! ha! though maybe I am a little hard of hearing 
1 can hear well enough to know he’s a rogue, and see it too 
though my eyes isn’t as good as they used to be. God bless 
us all ! I’ll see him hanged.” 

The old crone went on talking to herself in this strain, and 
chuckling all the afternoon ; but still she hobbled about the 
house and appeared to be very busy, though as usual she did 
nothing. 

When Weazel left the house, he walked a long distance till 
he came to quite a different part of the town from that in which 
he resided. He had got into the neighborhood of furniture 


DEPAKTUKE AN2> SCJRPEISE. 


285 


brokers and dealers in second-hand everythings, a rusty neigh- 
Dorhood, which smelt mouldy, and seemed as if it never could 
have been a new neighborhood. It was impossible to imagine 
that those dirty, smoke-stained bricks had ever been fresh-look- 
ing ; that the paint on the door posts had ever been bright, .the 
windows ever clean, the floors ever free from grease and dirt, 
the stones of the door steps ever white. Just as easy to fancy 
that the rusty, dingy coat of that old man in the warehouse 
there had ever been a bran new, shining piece of cloth, that his 
tortoise-shell spectacles had ever lain in an optician’s tray, 
among choice specimens of workmanship ; that the man him- 
self had even been a child, or even had took ofi* the greasy little 
skullcap that clung to his head as if it were glued there, or 
rather as if it was the natural covering provided by nature for 
his pericranium. 

“ Well, Mr. Maple, how are you getting on cried Weazel, 
addressing this individual in his blandest tones. 

“ How are you, Mr. Weazel was the reply, uttered in a 
quiet demure voice, in keeping with the staid, mouldy look of 
everything about the man. 

“ How’s business ?” asked Weazel. 

“ The same as usual, mine never changes for better or worse,” 
replied Maple. 

“ You’re a lucky fellow, for you’ve got a capital good busi- 
ness, I know that. I wish 1 were your partner.” 

“ Do you ?” said Maple ; but without the least smile, or, in- 
deed, excitement of any kind. 

“ You don’t seem to be as full here as you generally are,’* 
remarked Weazel, looking about the warehouse in which they 
were standing. 

“ About the same as usual,” was the reply. 

“ I suppose you don’t care to do a little business to-day, do 
you asked Weazel. 

“ I always care to do business,” answered Maple, “ why 
should I not 


286 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


“ Well, can we step into your back room said the other. 

“ Of course we can,” was the answer. “ Tom, keep watch, 
and call me if I am wanted.” This was addressed to a boy 
who had been rolled up in some mysterious corner, but who 
sprung through the basin-hole of a washhand-stand as soon as 
his name was called, and came and sat on a second-hand iron 
safe in front of the warehouse, eyeing every passer-by as if he 
must be a thief looking out to steal Maple’s chairs and tables. 

Into the dingy little back room, dingier and more mouldy, 
and of course less airy, than the warehouse, Mr. Maple led Mr. 
^Weazel. 

‘‘ Can we have a glass of brandy-and- water ?” suggested 
Weazel. 

“ Of course we can,” replied Maple, and he rang a bell, and 
a servant girl, who though equally dirty with everything else 
about the place, was not, however, mouldy-looking, made her 
appearance. 

“Mr. Weazel wishes you to fetch him some brandy,” said 
Maple. 

W eazel, thus appealed to, handed over half-a-crown and or- 
dered half-a-pint of pale brandy, and some water and tumblers. 
It was soon fetched, though it had stood a great chance of being 
upset, for Mary never passed Tom without pulling his ear, and 
Tom in return always tried to catch Mary round the waist, and 
all these proceedings endangered the safety of the brandy. 

“ Now,” began Weazel, “ I know of a very decent lot of 
furniture for sale, if you’re inclined to bid for it.” 

“Of course I’m inclined to bid for it,” said Maple. 

“Well,” continued Weazel, “you must be ready to pay 
cash for it.” 

“ Tm always ready to pay cash,” answered Maple. 

“ And you must give a liberal price,” said Weazel. 

“ I always give a fair price,” was the reply. 

“ The fact is,” continued W eazel, “ you know my furniture 
pretty well, I think, don’t you V* 


DEPi^RTUKE AND SURPRISE. 


287 


“ Pretty well.” 

“ Then it ^s not bad, is it ?” he asked. 

“ It’s not bad — it’s not good — you bought it toe cheap,” said 
Maple. ^ 

“ Now, what would you give for it?” inquired Weazel. 

“I cannot say what I would give for it,” replied Maple, 
“ because I never answer such a question put in such a manner 
— it’s not business.” 

“Well, then,” said Weazel, provoked at his slowness, “ is 
this business ? 1 wan’t to leave London this very evening. I 

have most important engagements in the North ; I may be de- 
tained a long while ; I don’t choose to leave my furniture to 
the mercy of that confounded old woman of mine, so I want to 
sell it. Will you buy it ? and what will you give me for it?” 

“Yes, that is business. I will give you sixty-five pounds for 
it,” answered Maple, deliberately. 

“ Sixty -five pounds ! it’s worth a hundred and fifty at least.” 

“ Then go and sell it to some one who thinks so too,” an- 
swered Maple, quite unmoved. 

“ Come, say a hundred,” suggested Weazel. 

“Sixty-five,” repeated Maple, “no more.” 

“ I can’t part with it for that, from my soul, I can’t,” said 
Weazel. 

“ Bovbt^ then,” was the answer. 

“But,” cried Weazel, in his most insinuating tones, “you’ll 
give a little more than you say, won’t you ?” 

“ 1 never give more than I say,” replied Maple. 

Weazel inwardly anathematized the man’s obstinacy, but he 
wanted to get rid of his things, and he wanted the money. So 
after a little further show of hesitation, he agreed to accept the 
price offered, and he and Maple walked together straight to 
the abode of the former. 

On reaching there W eazel sent old Mother Shaddles on an 
errand, which would take her at least two hours to execute. 
He then signed the necessary documents, transferring every- 


288 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


thing in the house except his personal apparel, and his desk, to 
Mr. Maple, who handed him the sum of sixty -five pounds. 

“ Shall you remain here asked Weazel. 

'‘Yes, till my man arrives to take possessibn of the goods. 
He’ll be here in less than an hour.” 

“ I’ll just get a cab then and start, as I’m rather pressed for 
time,” said Weazel; and he went out of the house, and soon 
procured one. Taking his solitary trunk, with the desk safely 
stowed inside it, he got into the cab, said farewell to his friend, 
and drove to the Great Northern Railway station. 

W eazel had forsaken his household gods ! 

In due time Mrs. Shaddles returned to the house, just in 
time to see the last of her dear master’s things placed in the 
furniture van. 

“ Holloa ! what’s this ?” asked the old woman. 

“ We’re a-taking away the furnitur’,” replied the man she 
addressed. 

“ But who’s got a right to do it 1 It’s my master’s.” 

“No it aint, it’s my master’s, now he’s bought it. Yourn’s 
gone away an hour ago,” said the man. 

“ Gone away ! sold his furnitur’ ! never paid me my wages 
— the wicked, dirty, cheating, little villain !” cried Mother 
Shaddles, in a rage. 

She entered the house ; it was empty. Not a solitary thing 
was left, and the man began to put up the shutters. 

“Now, old lady,” said he, “you must turn out, if you 
please : my orders is to lock the house up, and take the key to 
my master.” 

Mother Shaddles looked at him — and looked so viciously, too, 
that the man was half alarmed. Had he lived in the days of 
his great grandfather, he would infallibly have thought her a 
^/itch. However, she made him no reply, but left the house, 
which he locked up, and then went his way. 

And Mother Shaddles went her way, and as she hobbled 


DEPARTURE AND SURPRISE. 289 

along, she enjoyed many a chuckle, and often rubbed her hands, 
and said : 

“ Oh, the little villain ! Ho ! ho ! God bless us all ! I’ll 
see him hanged I*" I’ll see him hanged !” 

Meanwhile the individual towards whom she entertained 
these benevolent feelings, was spinning along at thirty miles an 
hour, in a second class carriage, towards the North. He did 
not, however, go very far. 

Alighting at the station where he had determined to remain 
for a time, he was directed to the nearest inn, and was soon 
within its hospitable walls. 

“ What’ll you please to take, sir*?” asked the waiter. 

“ Let me have a nice rump steak, waiter, and a potato, as 
soon as you can, for I’m hungry,” said Weazel. 

“ Yes, sir, — and a room, sir 

“ Yes — a room — Fll sleep here.” 

And a capital dinner did Weazel eat, and much did he enjoy 
his glass of punch afterwards, and greatly did he congratulate 
himself on his cleverness in running away, instead of paying 
the thousand pounds to Mr. Falcon. 

“ A likely story, indeed!” said Weazel to himself. “He 
has the whip-hand of me, and so I ran away. But I’ll bide my 
time, and I’ll have the whip-hand of /u'm, and then we’ll see 
whether I know how to play my cards or not. A thousand 
pounds indeed 1 Ha 1 ha 1” 

Weazel indulged in a second glass of punch before he went 
to bed that night, and smoked a pipe, and got himself into 
quite a pleasant and jovial frame of mind, so that he even said 
something complimentary to a very ugly chambermaid who 
showed him his room. 

And now Mr. Weazel unpacked his portmanteau, and took 
out his leather writing-desk. 

“I wonder what I’d part with that for,” said he, contempla- 
ting it. “Not for a good round sum, I fancy.” And then he 
took the key and unlocked it : and then he turned over the 


290 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


notes that were in it, and the papers, and grinned with delight : 
but suddenly he turned them over fast — faster — faster — scat- 
tered them — bank-notes and all, about the floor — faster — faster 
— and his check blanched and his eyes glared — it’s not there, 
what he seeks for — not there ! 

A loud cry — more like that of a wounded wild-beast than of 
a human being — rings through the house, and the terror-struck 
man falls senseless on the floor ! 


EOSE ASTONISHES A LAWYEK. 


291 


' CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

ROSE ASTONISHES A LAWYER. 

“ What good has ever come of our riches, I should like 
to know V* said, or rather thought, Mrs. Bennoch to herself, on 
the day that saw poor Dick’s remains conveyed to the same 
grave which already held his father’s. “ What good has 
ever come of them. The old man dead, — rest his soul ! — I did 
not mourn for him as I ought. I’m afraid ; but he had tried my 
feelings very hard, and my heart is not as soft as it used to be. 
And now my poor boy ! There’s only one thing left for me 
to love now — only one, but” — and she fell into a reverie about 
Rose, and thought how inexpressibly dearer to her than all the 
world beside the girl had ever been. 

“ She ain’t happy, though ; that she ain’t. I don’t mean just 
now, when her poor brother’s just dead, but never : I’ve watch- 
ed and watched her every day, and I’m sure she don’t feel real 
happiness. I wouldn’t have liked to see her again in the 
wretched place we used to be in, it was cruel to a young thing 
like her : but when Mr. Littlegood had taken charge of her, 
she wasn’t in want of anything — not even learning. But 
now — ” and Mrs. Bennoch again fell into a reverie. 

There was much truth in the poor woman’s thoughts. Indeed 
love supplied the want of knowledge in her, whenever she 
sought to understand the workings of her dear daughter’s 
heart. Rose was very far from happy ; how could she be 
otherwise ? She was in a false position ; an heiress without 
friends or connexions ; an educated girl and the daughter of 
a perfectly ignorant woman ; the school companion of young 


29.2 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


ladies of high birth, not one of whom would have visited her 
own mother. 

And she had a still greater source of disquietude. She felt 
— felt every hour of her life — that the comforts and luxuries 
they now enjoyed, had been robbed from her own kind, gene- 
rous benefactor. It was strange to watch how the feelings of 
devotion to Lorimer in the heart of this young girl, only in- 
creased with her maturing years. But it was cherished more 
secretly than before ; no longer would she speak of him to any 
one ; no longer would she even mention his name to her 
mother, or pursue for one instant the conversation that the lat- 
ter often tried to commence about him. So carefully did she 
avoid all allusion to him, that her mother at length began to 
fancy that Rose really was forgetting the existence of such a 
person ; and perhaps the good woman was occasionally grieved 
as the bare suspicion crossed her mind, that her dear girl could 
be ungrateful to her preserver. And this while the heart she 
distrusted was brooding over thoughts connected with him 
alone ! How mistakenly do we judge one another! 

There was another individual who indulged in many reve- 
ries at this time — our friend Mr. Falcon. 

That worthy and well-dressed attorney had a most practical 
way of looking at every event falling under his immediate no- 
tice ; first, did it concern him at all ? secondly, how would it 
affect his interests? thirdly, could he turn it to any good ac- 
count ? 

He soon decided that Dick Bennoch’s death concerned him 
very closely : that it affected his interests by putting an end 
to his guardianship, which promised him pretty pickings ; and, 
lastly, that he might, nevertheless, turn the unlucky accident 
to excellent account, and put much money in his pocket in con- 
sequence of it. 

For was not Rose now the heiress ? Had she not the cer- 
tainty of two thousand and some odd hundreds a year on com- 
ing of age — or marriage ? He was not a bad-looking fellow, as 


KOSE ASTONISHES A LAWYER. 293 

he well knew ; he was not old ; but there was something he 
prided himself on much more than his good looks, and that was 
his cleverness. Never had he met a man yet whom he could 
not overmatch, and he had no doubt that he should be equally 
successful in bending any woman to his will. Yet he confessed 
to himself that Rose was an awkward customer, in spite of her 
sex, and her extreme youth. Whether the girl were stupid, or 
bashful, or obstinate, or vain of her new position, he could not 
quite decide ; but he was clear-sighted enough to perceive, and 
sensible enough to confess it to himself, that his efforts to make 
himself agreeable to her appeared, hitherto, to have failed com- 
pletely. What object he had had in making the attempt up to 
this period, he could scarcely say ; at all events, with all his 
sensuality, he would not have liked to analyze his feelings on 
the point. But now his course was clear. The girl was friend- 
less ; she had a fortune ; she was nearly marriageable ; the 
game before him was almost too easy to require his ordinary 
skill in playing it ; almost too easy, but for that taciturnity, 
indifference, dislike, or whatever the feeling was which he saw 
in her, and inwardly cursed. 

It was not many days after Dick’s funeral, that Falcon was 
seated in the drawing-room of Mrs. Bennoch’s house alone with 
Rose, whose mother w’as not at home. The young girl was 
constrained, and almost awkward, as she was always in the law- 
yer’s presence. At the same time, she looked as if on her 
guard against some trap ; or, perhaps, as if watching an oppor- 
tunity to lay a trap herself — a strange mixture of fear and cun- 
ning. 

“Are you not very fond of drawing, then?’ asked Falcon. 

“ No.” 

“ Nor of music?’ 

“ I like to listen to it, but not to play myself,” she answered. 

“ Does that arise from bashfulness, or idleness?’ asked Fah 
con, smiling. 


294 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


% 

“ Not from idleness, but I can’t please myself sufficiently,” 
she replied. 

“ So much the better, because that will make you strive 
more to acquire greater skill.” 

“ I shall never have sufficient to please myself,” said Rose. 

“ But you may please others,” rejoined Falcon. “Won’t 
that gratify you 1” 

“ No ; not at all.” 

“ What ! do you not care to please any one 

“ I think not — perhaps — no !” she answered, hesitating. 

“ Is there no one in the world you would care to please 1 
think now,” he said. 

Rose blushed deeply. Falcon observed it, and his piercing 
eye flashed. What could be the meaning? Could she mean 
himself? Or of what, or of whom, could she be thinking ? 

“Ah!” he said, banteringly, “I see there is some one. I 
wish I knew who it was.” 

“ I did not say there was any one,” answered Rose, quite 
coldly. 

“ No, but you looked it,” said Falcon. 

Rose blushed again at this — as people always do when they 
try. not. 

“ I don’t care to please any one much,” she said, “ except 
my mother.” 

Falcon did not believe a word of it. His curiosity was ex- 
cited ; perhaps even a stronger feeling had possession of him ; 
at all events, he determined to find out the young girl’s secret, 
whatever it might be. He went now on another track, as sail- 
ors say. 

“ Well, you will be sure to please now without trying,” ob- 
served Falcon. 

“ Why ?” she asked quickly. 

“ Because you are so charming a young lady,” said he, half 
mockingly. 

Rose was annoyed. 


KOSE ASTONISHES A LAWYEK. 


295 


“ You did not mean that ; you said I should be sure to please 
now ; why do you mean now and she spake the words al- 
most in a tone of command. 

Falcon was amazqd. Here was a new view of the girl’s 
character ! Hitherto he had seen her half-timid, half-sullen, re- 
served, humble. Suddenly there was a burst of a spirit he had 
not expected to be lurking in that tender frame : he admired 
her much more than before. A very weak man, or a very 
firm one, always admires a high-spirited woman ; common 
place men dislike or fear one. 

“ You must not scold me,” said he, laughing ; and Rose 
shrank back to her quiet, timid manner again. “ I meant that 
it will not require much exertion on your part to please, now 
that you are an heiress.” 

“ An heiress ! I !” she exclaimed, and she looked at Falcon 
in unfeigned astonishment. 

“ My dear Miss Bennoch,” said Balcon, surprised in turn, 
“ do you really mean that you don’t know that all your father's 
property (excepting your mother’s jointure) is now yours 

“ Mine ! really mine 1” she exclaimed, for not a word had 
passed between her mother and herself on the subject, and she 
had never thought about it ; certainly it never had occurred to 
her that she was now an heiress. 

“Certainly — yours,” answered Falcon; “whose else should 
it be?” 

“ And can 1 do with it whatever I please?” she asked, her 
face lighting up with a look of eagerness, which Falcon at once 
mistook for avarice gratified. The mistake was natural in a 
man of the world; especially a lawyer; but it was a very 
great one nevertheless. 

“ No,” he answered, “you cannot do what you please with 
it yet: but you can when you are twenty-one years of age.” 

“ It’s a long while to look forward to,” said Rose, sighing 
deeply. 


296 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


“ You may come into possession of it sooner,” suggested 
Falcon. 

“ How V’ she asked eagerly again. 

“ By marrying ; it will be your husband’s then ; or it may 
be settled partly on him, and partly on yourself, and so forth.’*' 

Rose relapsed into her former timid silent state, but every 
now and then a deep blush passed over her face. How the 
man of the world would have opened his flashing eyes if he 
could have read the varied emotions then agitating the young 
girl’s heart ! His keenness was all at fault ; he had not even 
the right clue to the feelings he wanted to understand. 

He thought he would try a little badinage^ and while pre- 
tending to be jesting, to find out a little more of this strange 
girl’s character. 

“ Now, suppose you had this fortune all to yourself. Miss 
Bennoch — 1 mean, all at your own command at this moment ; 
what would you do % Would you take an opera-box, and buy 
a new carriage ]” 

Rose shook her head. 

“Well, then, would you go to Hunt and Roskells, and buy 
jewels; and to Howell and James’s, and buy silks; and, in 
short, spend as much of it as you could in the shortest pos- 
sible space of time — eh V* 

Again Rose shook her head. 

“Would you marry ?” 

“No,” she said, sharply and decidedly, so much so as quite 
to startle Falcon again, though he was not easily astonished. 

“Then what would you do?” said he, with mock solemnity. 

“ Give it all away,” she replied. 

“ Give it all away ! all ! — and to whom pray w^ould you so 
charitably behave ?” 

“1 would give it all back to the rightful owner — the man we 
have robbed — whom you have helped to rob, perhaps, — but 
he is robbed the property is his and he shall have itP 

Her voice was raised, her eye flashed, it almost seemed that 


EOSE ASTONISHES A LAWYER. 297 

her foot stamped. There was energy, determination, strong 
will, and bitterness all combined — and she rose quickly from 
her seat, and left the room. 

As for Falcon, he had never been so completely astounded 
in his life. He sat quite bewildered for at least a couple of 
minutes, doubting the evidence of his senses. 

“ Whew !” he exclaimed at last. “ Sets the wind that way ? 
Is the girl mad ? or is the child already in love ? And with 
this Mr. Lorimer Littlegood too ! Truly that young gentle- 
man seems to have bewitched both mother and daughter. The 
mother wanted to make him guardian of her son, and the 
daughter wants to throw all she has — and herself too, perhaps 
— into his arms. This will never do. I’m not going to let 
this penniless puppy walk off with my prize. He’ll be a clever 
fellow if he does, now that I am on my guard. There’ll be a 
little tough work for me, for the girl has the spirit of the devil. 
Yet after all a downright madly obstinate person is the easiest 
in the world to manage if you have only the wit to humor him. 
Unfortunately, it won’t quite do to humor this particular feeling 
though. My way is not quite clear to me at present ; but I’ll 
not be long without seeing it. Aut facian^ aut inveniam^ as 
somebody’s motto says. Mr. Lorimer Littlegood, 1 am with 
every respect your most devoted — enemy. You are my game, 
sir, and I’ll hunt you with every hound I can press into my ser- 
vice. I’ll run you down too, or never trust my skill again. 
The girl shall be mine — and the money too. Meanwhile I’ll 
go and call on my clever little imitator of other gentlemen’s 
writing — my very good friend Mr. Weazel — and trouble him 
for that little matter of a thousand pounds. The cash will be 
useful just now. AUons ! 

And humming an air, Mr. Falcon stepped into his cabriolet 
and drove away. 

20 


4 


298 


LOKIMEE LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

AN INTRODUCTION. 

Who’s the man you just spoke toV^ asked Fred Stanley of 
Lorimer Littlegood as they were sauntering on the boulevards, 

“ His name is Hemming ; I wonder you don’t know him. 
If you were a tailor you would be sure to do so.” 

“ Why ? has he so many tailors asked Fred. 

“ I don’t suppose there’s one of any pretensions in London 
who has not Will Hemming’s name on his books,” answered 
Lorimer — “ to say nothing of every other sort of tradesmen 
that supply luxuries for the inner or outer man.” 

He’s rich then, eh 

“ 1 never met any one who could tell me where he has a six^ 
pence of property,” said Lorimer. 

“ Plays then, I supposed” suggested Fred. 

“ No, at least no one ever saw him do so. The fact is he 
lives on credit — on ‘ tick’ as he calls it.” 

“ Oh, that’s all very well ; but it can’t last for ever, you 
know,” remarked Fred. 

“ I suppose not,” said Lorimer : but it has lasted Will 
Hemming up to hve-and-thirty ; and it lasted a certain greater 
lion that we both know of to a much longer period.” 

“ Do you mean to say he’s never dunned asked Fred. 

“ On the contrary, I should say he’s always being dunned,” 
answered Lorimer. “ But he has the most extraordinary way 
of putting men off, cajoling them, laughing at them, and even 
bullying them — and it always ends in their leaving him alone.” 

“ And giving him fresh credit?” asked the other. 


AN INTRODUCTION. 


299 


“ Yes ; actually, yes. The most impudent thing he even 
did was having a printed in this form — ‘ Mr. William 

Hemming, being incessantly overwhelmed with applications for 
money on alLcides, finds it necessary positively to decline ac- 
ceding to Mr. 's request.’ And filling in each creditor’s 

name in ink, he sent every one that dunned him one of the 
^ printed circulars.” 

“Did they stand itl” 

“ I suppose they were so utterly astounded with the novelty 
of the thing that they did not know what to do. I had the 
story from a bootmaker who showed me his copy of the circu- 
lar, and he evidently was divided between an inclination to be 
angry and to burst out laughing. So for the sake of Master 
Will, I fostered the latter feeling, and the man of leather roar- 
ed over his customer’s strange epistle.” 

“ That art of managing duns is certainly a wonderful one,” 
said Fred. “ I have often thought of it. The stories one hears 
of Sheridan and his creditors are mostly stupid enough as 
related, and we only wonder how the creditors could have been 
such asses. But there must have been something in the air 
and manner of the man quite irrespective of what he said, or 
did, that charmed the blockheads, as serpents charm birds, for 
in they plunged to the trap wherever he chose to set it. I 
have no doubt that precisely the same qualities of mind form 
the accomplished diplomatist, and the accomplished ‘ c/o,’ as the 
present phrase is.” 

“ Both must understand human nature well,” said Lorimer. 

“ Yes ; but many men understand it, and yet don’t manage 
it well. A man may have an excellent scientific knowledge of 
billiards, but if he has not also a perfect mechanical command 
of his cue and a correct eye, he won’t be a good player. Philo- 
sophers in their study often understand human nature thorough- 
ly — they show it by their works — but they cannot deal with it 
as cleverly as men of the world in actual practice; though the 
latter may have much less real knowledge of the human heart.” 


300 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ A diplomatist should have the knowledge and the skill too,” 
said Lorimer. 

“ Exactly so — and so should a ‘ By the way, I don’t 
like this new word, but there’s no other that exactly expresses 
my meaning. A swindler is a coarser, lower animal, alto- 
gether — in fact, he is generally a bit of an ass, because the risks 
he runs are too large in proportion to the possible gains. He 
cheats, makes false pretences, assumes other men’s names and 
occasionally their handwriting, and without ever being in good 
society often ends in Newgate or Van Diemen’s Land. But a 
‘ do* is a superior animal, he has tact and wit, and some sort of 
honor, if not honesty. He never pretends to what he has not, 
or is not ; but produces such a general effect on the weak minds 
of tailors, dec. &c., that they fancy him the man of fashion, 
fortune, and rank, and trust him of their own free-will. Nay, 
even when they find there is no fortune, and very little rank, 
they trust him for fashion’s sake, and for fear of his doing them 
an injury with their other ‘ clients, as my tailor always call his 
customers. Such is the modern ‘ c?o.’ I need not point you to 
the men themselves, because we both know their names, and 
they are sounded in almost every drawing-room in London.” 

“ I suppose very much the same sort of thing is going on 
here in Paris said Lorimer. 

“ No doubt ; but I fancy there are more swindlers and fewer 
‘ c/0’5,’ than in our own metropolis. Frenchmen always want 
to blaze too much ; they cannot be quiet either in dress or 
equipage.” 

“It’s strange that Frenchmen should dress in such bad 
taste,” said Lorimer, “ and Frenchwomen so completely the 
reverse.” 

“ So it is ; but is it not fortunate that the French ladies do 
dress in such good taste ! for are they not horribly plain ? Do 
you know that I verily believe the only thing that ever takes 
me back from Paris that I love so, to London that 1 hate so, is 


AN INTKODUCTION. 301 

the intense desire I feel to see a few pretty women again — an 
unattainable luxury here.” 

Lorirner laughed. 

“ Well, then,” said he, “ do you feel any of that desire at the 
present moment ? because 1 am returning to England imme- 
diately.” 

“ So soon 

“ Yes. My dear fellow, you know my position, I have to 
make a living — and God knows how 1 am to set about it ; but 
at least, I know that I ought to begin at once.” 

Fred Stanley was silent for a moment, and then said, sud- 
denly : 

“ I tell you what, Littlegood — V\\ be hanged if I don’t go 
with you ; shall we start to-morrow ?” 

“ With pleasure,” answered Lorirner, quite amused at his 
friend’s impetuosity. 

‘‘ Then, let’s go and tell Jack Fenton — he’ll be very sorry, I 
know, because he has taken a great fancy to you.” 

Lorirner said nothing, but wondered at his friend’s words. 
Could it be really true that the man against whom he was al- 
most unconsciously cherishing ill-feeling, entertained the very 
opposite sentiments towards himself? Certainly Jack Fenton 
was a very good fellow, a very pleasant fellow, and a most 
hospitable fellow, he had behaved with the utmost kindness and 
cordiality to Lorirner, and yet the latter could not like him, as 
he felt he ought. To be sure, whenever he saw Jack Fenton, 
or whenever that individual was named, he always thought of 
Miss Stanley and Miss Stanley’s partiality for Mr. Fenton. 
And this may account for Lorimer’s feeling : it was very wrong, 
but rather natural too. 

Fred Stanley was right in his prophecy. Fenton was sincere- 
ly sorry to lose his fj-iends, vowed they should not go, and gave 
them a hundred unanswerable reasons why they positively 
must remain. But it was to no purpose, for they were re- 
solved. 


302 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


“ What will Miss Stanley say of your desertion of her 
said Fenton. 

“Her brother must answer for himself/’ said Lorimer; 
“ my presence can be of very little service to Miss Stanley.” 

“I’m not sure of that,” said Fenton, and with a look to- 
wards Lorimer alone, which seemed to mean much. 

“ She’ll miss Littlegood a great deal more than myself,” 
cried Fred : “ For he’s such a good-natured fellow, and goes 
to places that 1 hate, and, in fact, does my duties for me.” 

“Mr. Fenton will be happy to supply my place, I am 
sure,” said Lorimer. 

“ Happy, undoubtedly,” replied Fenton, “but not compe- 
tent to fill it with equal satisfaction to the ladies.” 

The words sounded like a mere compliment; but the look 
towards Lorimer, and evidently meant for him alone, ex- 
press much more. 

“ Confound the fellow’s impudence,” muttered Lorimer ; 
“ he knows that he has won the prize, and he sports with 
the loser.” 

However, he made no reply. In the afternoon they called 
and took leave of Mrs. and Miss Stanley ; and certainly if 
the latter felt any great sorrow at the parting, she concealed 
it admirably under a show of perfect indifference. Lorimer 
was more than ever convinced that he was as nothing to her. 
Unluckily he was equally satisfied that she w^as as everything 
to him. So it always is in love and everything else, — we 
covet most what we seem to have least chance of obtaining. 

Next morning Fred and Lorimer were again in the train 
and hastening back to England. 

“ Where do you intend to go when we reach our dear foggy 
land?” asked Fred. 

“ Straight to my mother’s house,” answered Lorimer. “ I 
am very anxious just now to see my sister. Will you ac- 
company me?” 

“ Indeed I will. Do you know, Littlegood, I’m glad you 


AN INTEODUCTION. 


303 

asked me, because otherwise I should have been obliged to be 
guilty of the rudeness of asking you to take me.” 

“Fm delighted to hear it,” answered Lorimer, who was 
becoming more and more attached to the volatile Fred. 

“ 1 think I had better confess the truth at once,” continued 
the latter, “ because I feel like a deceitful humbug at the pres- 
ent moment. I made up my mind to start for England on 
purpose to be ' introduced to your sister.” 

“ To my sister exclaimed Lorimer, in surprise. 

“Yes; to your sister. I have the strongest wish to see her 
after all that 1 have heard of her from you.” 

“ 1 don’t think I have talked much about her, have I ask- 
ed Lorimer. 

“Yes, you have: but that’s the beauty of it. You don’t 
know that you have spoken much of her, because you don’t 
intend to do so. You don’t set to work to give us descrip- 
tions of her appearance, or her sayings and doings ; but you 
constantly, and unconsciously refer to her, and always in a 
way that shows me you love her very much.” 

“I do, God bless her !” exclaimed Lorimer; “but surely 
that’s nothing extraordinary. Don’t most men love their 
own sisters ?” 

“ No ; at least, not much. They have of course a little, or 
a good deal, of the ordinary domestic attachment for them ; 
but few sistei]s take the trouble to make their brothers love 
them very warmly ; and I suppose few brothers deserve that 
they should.” 

“ What a cynic you are, Stanley !” said Lorimer, laughing. 

“ Not a bit, but I hate humbug, and upon my soul there’s 
a very little else left in the world.” 

Meanwhile, Jessie, the subject of Mr. Frederick Stanley’s 
curiosity, had no idea of the visit in store for her. She ex- 
pected Loi-irner to return to England soon, but he had not 
written to fix any day for doing so. And so she merely hoped 
that each succeeding day would bring him, for not only was 


304 


LORIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


further time spent in Paris, time lost to him, but, moreover, 
she felt that the longer he remained near Miss Stanley, the 
greater would be his sufferings of disappointed affection. 

It was a beautiful evening in June. The garden of the cot- 
tage looked so fresh, so neat, and withal, so tastefully cared 
for, that few could have passed the gate without peeping to 
get such a view as the envious evergreens would allow them. 

“ What a sweet place !” cried Stanley. 

“ I think so now, though I well remember when I was only 
too glad to get away from it,” answered Lorimer. 

The two friends were on foot, followed by two lads carry- 
ing their portmanteaus. They preferred to approach the 
house thus, rather than in a fly, so as to come upon the in- 
mates by surprise. Lorimer opened the gate and led his 
friend to the house ; here he again opened the door, and passed 
at once to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Littlegood was sitting 
alone. She sprang up to embrace her son. Lorimer then 
introduced his friend, who found instant favor in the good 
lady’s eyes. 

“Where’s Jessie?” asked Lorimer. 

“ She’s in the schoolroom,” answered his mother. 

“What! not done work yet?” 

“She’s only giving a dancing lesson to a pet pupil of 
her’s who is not very clever in learning to dance.” 

“ I’ll go to her,” said Lorimer. 

He was leaving the room, and suddenly stopped. 

“Stanley, come with me, will you?” he cried. 

“Oh, no, my dear Lorimer !” exclaimed his mother, quite 
shocked at the proposal. 

“ Why not? Stanley won’t quiz, will you?” 

“ Indeed not, but is it fair to Miss Littlegood ?” 

“ Certainly not,” cried Mrs. Littlegood. 

“Nonsense,” answered Lorimer. “I know Jessie well 
enough. She won’t be amazed at all, it will be a good bit of 


AN INTRODUCTION. 


805 

fun ; and ” he added, as he led Fred Stanley along, “ you will 
at least see her without disguise, for the first time.” 

The friends proceeded cautiously to the school-room door, 
which, fortunately for their plot, was ajar. They peeped in. 

A little girl was standing in the middle of the room awk- 
wardly attempting her “first step;” opposite to her stood 
Jessie Littlegood, lifting up her dress to show the step, and 
displaying thereby as pretty a foot and ankle as mortal might 
wish to look upon. She was humming a little air to mark 
the time; her face was smiling ; her eye full of animation and 
excitement; her cheek slightly flushed. To Fred Stanley it 
was a vision of loveliness he had not expected to behold. 

“ Bravo !” cried Lorimer. 

Jessie started, recognized her brother’s voice, and rushed to 
throw herself into his arms. But there was a stranger ! and 
she almost uttered a cry of alarm ; at all events she blushed 
deeply and stopped short. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, my dear Jessie,” cried Lorimer, kiss- 
ing her, “ this gentleman is a very good friend of mine, most 
anxious to make your acquaintance — Mr. Frederick Stanley.” 

Jessie was startled at the name, but bowed and led the way 
back to the drawing-room. 


306 


LOlUMER LITTLEGOOD. 


S 


CHAPTER XL. 

MOTHER SHADDLES. 

Mother Shaddles did not lose much time in determining 
what to do, her simulated ignorance, deafness, and decrepi- 
tude, had put Weazel off his guard, and enabled her to become 
acquainted with his various schemes and plots — she felt sure 
the abstracted document, and some circumstances known to 
herself alone were sufficient not only to convict her late master, 
whom she thoroughly detested, of a criminal offence, but also 
to dispose of the property, unwillingly possessed by poor little 
Rose, in a way little expected by any of the parties interested 
in Weazel’s machinations. 

From her knowledge of the man, she had little difficulty in 
determining, as soon as anger permitted her to think rationally, 
that Falcon’s approaching visit — for she had listened to his 
conversation with Weazel — was the reason of the sudden de- 
parture of the latter, nor did she question, having arrived at 
this conclusion, that Weazel’s first step would be directed 
towards destroying the means by which his fraud could be un- 
masked, and this pointed in her mind clearly to a visit to our 
friend Crank, at Stumpington. 

Mother Shaddles was no ordinary woman, she was fond of 
money, and she delighted in mischief, but these were character- 
istics acquired rather by the most bitter experience of life, 
than inherent in her nature, little as her outward appearance 
and present character might seem to indicate it ; she had once 
been good-looking, affectionate, and honest, her passions had 


MOTHER SIIADDLES. 


807 


been always strong, and their intensity had much to do in 
making her what she was, but man^s perfidy and cruelty were 
quite as much to blame — in spite of all, and perverted, as her 
nature had become, she yet cherished sentiments of a better 
kind. Jn the midst of the most abject poverty, she remained 
honest, and her hatred of Weazel was in the first instance quite" 
as much the result of the discovering his villany as resenting 
his insults ; before entering his service, which the direst neces- 
sity had rendered a matter of the utmost importance, she as- 
certained his disposition, and her knowledge of the world told 
her, that every mental and bodily defect, so long as she seemed 
capable of doing what he required, would be a recommenda- 
tion in his eyes; Weazel was therefore completely deceived, 
and believing that he had nothing to fear from her, he w^as less 
reserved and guarded than was usual with him, hence she acci- 
dentally became acquainted with circumstances which excited 
her curiosity, and this once roused, she lost no opportunity of 
discovering more. Soon however other feelings were excited, 
she found that Weazel’s schemes were calculated to inflict 
injuries on innocent parties, she detested the dishonesty of the 
man, and therefore determined sooner or later to frustrate his 
designs, and be the means of undoing the mischief he had 
caused ; but what was her surprise, and how ardently did she 
enter upon the work, w'hen she ascertained that those who had 
been deprived of their property were themselves not entitled 
to it, and that they had acquired it to the injury of parties 
once most dear to her, and the recollection of whom awakened 
memories and feelings, which she had thought very long dead: 
she therefore determined to see her friends or their descendants 
righted, and hoped by that means to atone in some measure 
for acts of her own which had often weighed heavily on her 
conscience, xilthough her aim was noble. Mother Shaddles 
had become too much habituated to her present mode of 
thought and action, to do things as other people would have 
done them ; mystery had become a passion with her, and she 


308 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


determined to do things in her own way and at her own time, 
without revealing herself, or her plans to those most interested 
in her proceedings. 

While thus considering the various circumstances in con- 
nection with her self-imposed task, she continued hobbling on 
her way, as fast as she was able, indulging every now and then 
in parenthetical invectives, and prognostications, about our 
friend Weazel, which would have given one the impression 
that hatred and mischief were her ruling passions ; at last 
however she roused herself to inquire where she could obtain 
temporary shelter and the necessary means for a journey to 
Stumpington ; she could not see her way clear to accomplish 
the last in any other way than by walking the whole distance, 
from which she by no means shrunk, and the first she hoped to 
find under the poor but hospitable roof of the Pecks — nor was 
she disappointed. These honest people received her kindly 
and were much surprised to hear of the flight of Weazel, but 
Peck’s suspicions having been roused, as to the honesty of 
Weazel’s conduct in the Littlegood affair, he with the aid of 
his more active little wife found no difficulty in at last arriving 
at the conviction, “ that that affair” had something to do with 
Weazel’s flight. 

Seeing that Mother Shaddles expressed herself in no very 
friendly terms about her late employer, and that she was evi- 
dently meditating some mischief against him, Mr. Peck in- 
formed her of Peg Tod’s present abode and of his suspicions, 
that she knew something which might prove the means of 
bringing Weazel’s guilt home to him. 

Mrs. Shaddles perceived that the indignation of the Pecks, 
arose rather out of sympathy for Littlegood, than for any very 
delicate sense of right; she, therefore, said nothing about her 
ulterior aims, and allowing them to think that her endeavors 
must result beneficially to Lorimer, she availed herself of 
Peck’s offer to take her to Stumpington and to lend her a “couple 
of sovereigns” for expenses while remaining in the country. 


MOTHER SHADDLES. 


309 


Mr. Crank was a gentleman of a too philosophic turn of 
mind, to trouble himself much about the affairs of others; 
Mother Shaddles did not therefore succeed in enlisting his 
sympathy, and active co-operation for her designs against 
Weazel ; he was ready to communicate all he knew, and very 
probably the parish books had been tampered with, but “ things 
would all come right” without his intervention. 

Peg Tod was as much afraid of Weazel as ever; it was 
therefore with the utmost difficulty that she could be induced 
to state what she had observed and to produce the strip of 
paper she had picked up from the floor. 

Having obtained all the information she required. Mother 
Shaddles had rnade up her mind to return to town. The day 
previous to her intended departure was one of festivity with the 
Cranks who were about giving a tea party in honor of the birth- 
day of Mr. Crank. The humble parlor was made tidy, and care- 
fully arranged in Mrs. Crank’s best manner, and Mrs. Shaddles 
was invited to honor them with her company. A lamp was 
burning on the table, the tea pot was smoking, and the little 
party were just entering with spirit upon the enjoyments of 
tea and muffins, when they were alarmed by the door being 
burst open violently, and Peg Tod rushing in alarm into the 
room screaming, “ don’t let him take me away with him — he 
will kill me.” Meantime the consternation had been great 
and the excitement was still further increased by the frightful 
screams of Master Bobby Crank, who had received the scald- 
ing contents of Mother Shaddles’ tea cup over his head and 
face. The old lady was the first to recover — understanding the 
cause of Peg’s fears, she rose quickly from her seat and enjoin- 
ing Crank not to say anything about their presence, or his sus- 
picions to Weazel, drew Peg with her into the inner room. 

Scarcely had they disappeared, when Weazel entered, not a 
little surprised at the general excitement which seemed to pre- 
vail in the apartment; he looked careworn and anxious, and 
evidently disappointed to find that he could not converse upon 


310 


LOKIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


the business which brought him there that evening ; he there- 
fore very soon took his departure, making an appointment to 
call upon Mr. Crank the following afternoon. 

As soon as Weazel had left the house, Mother Shaddles 
hobbled into the parlor and asking Mrs. Crank’s permission to 
take Peg Tod with her, they both left the house. 

The nature of their errand may be inferred from the fact, 
that while Mr. Weazel was in the act of explaining to Mr. 
Crank, who was finishing a pair of Clarendons with his usual 
devotion to his “ last” — the interest he took in parish docu- 
ments, and especially those relating to Stumpington, and how 
he would like to have these interesting volumes intrusted to 
him for perusal at his leisure during his stay at Stumpington, 
he was tapped on the shoulder by a detective policeman, (in 
plain clothes) while Mother Shaddles pointed at him — gib- 
bering with delight. “ I said I should hang him, there he 
is, caught at last, poor little man, what shall we all come to, 
God bless us all !” 


THE CONSPIKACY. 


.'^ll 


CHAPTER XLI. 

THE CONSPIRACY. 

Weazel was charged with forging a copy of a marriage 
certificate, and abstracting a leaf out of the parish register of 
Stumpington. 

The missing leaf was in the possession of Mother Shaddles, 
and was the paper she had taken from Weazel's desk : it cor- 
responded with the vacant place in the parish book, but had no 
entry like that on the paper, which had been filed in court, as 
the marriage certificate of Bennoch’s father. 

Weazel had kept this document, in case he might at any 
time have found it desirable, to “put the screw” on Bill Ben- 
noch, if that gentleman’s natural liberality should not by any 
chance have come up to Mr. WeazePs notions of right. Ben- 
noch’s untimely death, the appointment of Falcon as trustee, 
and the position which that acute practitioner was able to as- 
sume in opposition to him, had disconcerted his plans, but he 
only submitted for a time, in order the more surely to carry 
out his originally conceived plans, and his journey to Stump- 
ington was undertaken with a view to place matters so, that 
he might defy charges like those brought against him by Falcon, 
and yet preserve the means of ultimately turning the tables 
upon him, and laying his purse under contribution : Weazel 
was ignorant of Falcon’s exact intentions about Bennoch’s 
property, but he had seen enough of him to feel sure, that that 
acute practitioner looked upon the property of the Bennochs 
as destined for his own use, and he therefore did not reason 
wrongly in believing that the fear of losing so valuable a prize 


312 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


might be made a means of compelling Falcon to comply with 
any reasonable demand he might make upon him. 

The disappointment of the little villain when he discovered 
the loss of the document he so much prized, the fear that its 
loss might compromise his personal safety, and his consterna- 
tion when he found himself suddenly in the grasp of the law, 
can scarcely be described ; but as he was rather a physical 
than a moral coward, he soon recovered his presence of mind. 

The magistrates remanded the case for fourteen days to get 
up further evidence. Meanw’hile Weazel lost no time in com- 
municating with Falcon, and asking him to come to Stumping- 
ton without a moment’s delay : that gentleman arrived there 
accordingly the next evening. After a good deal of fencing on 
both sides, in which the lawyer always maintained the upper 
hand, these two worthies came to an understanding. For- 
tunately for Weazel he had travelled under an assumed name; 
his trunk, therefore, containing his desk, in which there was a 
very considerable sum of money and most important papers, 
affecting both his personal safety and the interests of the chief 
personages cff this story, as well as of some individuals not so 
intimately known to the reader, did not fall into the hands of 
the police. It was agreed between the two parties, that Fal- 
con was to take possession of the trunk and its contents, arid 
retain the w^hole of the papers and half the money for his ser- 
vices in Weazel’s defence. These conditions were hard and 
not easily conceded by him, but he had no alternative — he had 
no one to whom he could have intrusted his case, so likely to 
obtain his release as Falcon, and he was obliged to confide his 
property to him, if he would not have it fall into the hands of 
the law. The work to be done, in order to get him released, 
was no ordinary matter — but Falcon was no ordinary man — 
and the prize at stake, apart from the very handsome reward 
he obtained, out of Weazel’s immediately available means, 
was sufficient to call furth all his ingenuity and to override all 
his scruples. Having obtained the address of the inn in the 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


313 


town, where Weazel first stayed after leaving London, and 
where he had left his trunk in charge of the landlord, Falcon 
went, took possession of it, and immediately returned to town. 
An examination of the contents of the desk confirmed all 
WeazePs statements, and showed him, not only that Eose 
Bennoch had no claims to the property, but that Littlegood 
was also not entitled to it. It also furnished a pretty accurate 
insight into the proceedings of Mr. Bosher and Littlegood’s 
grandfather, and of some other matters, from which Falcon 
promised himself both profit and the gratification of his enmity 
to Lorimer. 

Mr. Falcon also hoped to turn his present knowledge to ad- 
vantage with Eose, and at any rate he would be able, in case 
she should refuse compliance with his wishes, to deprive her 
of all her property, and to compensate himself for the loss of 
so good a client, by most probably becoming the solicitor of 
those who, in default of Bennoch’s legitimacy and Littlegood's 
rights, would be the heirs to old Bennoch’s estate. Who these 
were he did not know, but with the clue in his possession he 
soon hoped to find out. Mr. Falcon did not, however, for a 
moment doubt his success with poor little Eose ; his last in- 
terview with her had revealed to him traits in her character of 
whose existence he had not had the least conception ; he there- 
fore felt sure that the loss of her property would have no ter- 
rors for her ; he also saw that no amount of personal devotion 
would ever succeed in engaging her affections, and, he doubted 
not, that her sense of right would induce her at once to re- 
nounce wealth which she already regarded with dislike, as ob- 
tained at the cost of the person, who was the first that had 
acted kindly towards her. 

It is strange, but it is nevertheless a fact, that very bad men 
are very apt to love in woman the very attributes in which 
they themselves are deficient. It was thus with Falcon ; the 
insight W'hich he had lately obtained of the character of Eose 
made her possession a matter of greater importance to him, 
21 


314 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


and what he had at first coveted only on account of pecuniary 
considerations, became now a matter of feeling with him. The 
sentiments involved were indeed peculiarly Falconian, but 
there was nevertheless some amount of absolute love mixed 
up with them : his pride was hurt at her continued apathy to- 
wards him, after so much labor and so many efforts had been 
expended in endeavoring to make himself agreeable : his envy 
was roused at the knowledge that another rivalled him success- 
fully, though involuntarily, in the young lady’s affections, his 
cupidity was excited at the possession of a handsome fortune, 
and his intercourse with Rose had awakened in him a feeling 
as kindred to affection as was compatible with his character : 
no doubt if the course were traced, it would be found that his 
sentiments grew in an inverse ratio to the usual process. He 
noticed Rose for her wealth and expectations ; he looked upon 
her therefore as marked out for him, and he felt a species of 
love towards her because she was his ; nevertheless, she had 
become not indifferent to him, and since he had found her pos- 
sessed of active virtues, of temper, firmness and passion, where 
her feelings were interested, she had become more attractive in 
his eyes, and this was an additional stimulant to spur him on 
to make Rose Bennoch his own. 

A mind so fertile and unscrupulous as Falcon’s, did not find 
much difficulty in discovering a method by which Rose Ben- 
noch could be made to submit to his wishes. He was now 
fully convinced that Rose loved Lorimer Littlegood ; he saw 
that womanly delicacy and the circumstances in which she was 
placed would compel her ever to keep these feelings a secret, 
but this made the sentiment which prompted her to wish to 
return him his property all the more intense — this w^as the 
only way in which she could show her gratitude — her affec- 
tion — towards him ; hence the wish to reinstate her first friend, 
in what she believed was rightly his ; the desire to undo what 
she deemed a great crime, and the greatest act of ingratitude, 
had become the ruling object of her life, an all engrossing 


THE CONSPIKACY. 


315 


passion, and this all the more because she believed herself de- 
graded, and felt herself humiliated in the eyes of the only man 
whose good opinion was dearer to her than life, until she was 
able to show him that she, at least, had been no party to de- 
priving him of his fortune. 

Falcon’s plan was therefore to avail himself of Eose’s mas- 
ter passion, and convert that into the means of obtaining her 
hand ; though devoid of all sentimentality himself, he was able 
to appreciate the depth of her devotion, and he did not fail to 
perceive that such devotion, under the peculiar circumstances 
in which she was placed, with a mind untrained to think logi- 
cally, unaccustomed to reason upon her own feelings, and un- 
assisted by maternal counsel, might be made to look upon 
marriage with a man whom she did not love, as an act of self- 
sacrifice highly commendable, if done from motives of honor 
and gratitude, and for the happiness of him who possessed her 
heart. That this victory, if such it may be called, provided 
he succeeded in making Rose Bennoch his wife, would not 
secure him her affection, and was incompatible with self-respect, 
in as much as it made him knowingly marry a woman who 
loved another, did not trouble Mr. Falcon very much; he 
wished to have Rose as a wife, and the gratification of his de- 
sire was in itself enough for him — he hoped to make her love 
him ultimately, and if not — love was, in his mind, no indis- 
pensable requisite of the married state — if she loved him, it 
would be well for herself — if otherwise, she would be the 
greatest sufferer ; he would know how to compensate himself, 
in the possession of fortune, for the want of affection. 

Having settled these matters to his own satisfaction, he pro- 
ceeded to take the necessary measures for preventing the con- 
viction of Weazel. 

On the morning when Weazel was to have been brought up 
for further examination, the Cranks discovered that Peg Tod 
had absconded in the night, taking her few articles of clothing 
with her. When Weazel was brought up before the Magistrates, 


316 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


Mr. Falcon produced an eminent professional man from Lon- 
don, to prove that the leaf which was stated to have been torn 
out of the parish register, was a skilful forgery ; such was in- 
deed the case, from various internal marks, and this was fur- 
ther confirmed, by the testimony of several parties who cor- 
roborated the authenticity of the copy of certificates, which had 
been presented to the court, in the matter of “ Bennoch v. Lit- 
tlegood.” Mother Shaddles protested that the paper, now in 
the hands of the Magistrates, was not the one she had given 
them, that it must have by some means been abstracted from 
the documents and another substituted, and that Peg Tod could 
not only prove that she had seen Weazel forge the certificate, but 
also produce one of the identical slips of paper, on which he 
had experimented until he succeeded in producing an instru- 
ment which would pass for authentic ; she also mentioned the 
fact of Weazel’s sudden departure as indicative of his wishing 
to escape from the possible discovery of his crime. 

All these charges had been anticipated, and provided against 
by Mr. Falcon. The Justices in whose possession the document 
was, of course repudiated the possibility of any substitution ; 
moreover it appeared in every respect the same, and although 
able, now that it was pointed out to them, to see that it was 
fictitious, it appeared at first sigiit sufficiently real, to warrant 
their remanding Weazel. — What Peg Tod might have proved, 
could not be known, — it was in her power to have been there, 
and as she chose to absent herself, it was only fair to presume 
she had nothing to say, and had good reasons for doing what 
she had done. In relation to the furniture, Mr. Maple was 
there to prove, that he had only agreed to take care of them 
for a certain time, and a ‘‘ highly respectable tradesman” came 
forward and stated, that he had entered into arrangements with 
Mr. Weazel, to attend to some affairs of his in the north of 
England. 

Under these circumstances Weazel was discharged, and 
Mother Shaddles given into custody, for endeavoring by means 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


31T 


of a fictitious document maliciously to injure her late employer, 
and she was committed for trial at, the ensuing assizes ; the evi- 
dence of Maple and his man, as well as of the policeman who 
had taken Weazel into custody, went to prove her malicious 
intent in threatening to have him hanged ; her appearance — the 
absence of any one to speak favorably of her character — and 
the vagrant life she had led before she entered Weazel’s ser 
vice, as well as the evident spuriousness of the document on 
which she had made her charges against her late employer, all 
went to condemn her, and she was accordingly sentenced to be 
imprisoned for twelve months. She persisted to the last, that 
she was the victim of a vile conspiracy, which she would un- 
mask sooner or later — mean time she had fortunately not di- 
vulged anything about her knowledge, in relation to the real 
claimants of Bennoch’s property, which enabled her at a later 
period to proceed with her plans, withouf^ Falcon’s suspecting 
it. 


318 


LORIMER LITTLEGOOD. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

Iir WHICH OUR STORY IS BROUGHT TO A CLOSE. 

In his subsequent interviews with Rose, Falcon pretended to 
admire her sentiments, and fully to enter into her feelings ; as 
regards the restitution of Lorimer’s property, he had taken 
care to make himself previously acquainted with Lorimer’s 
disposition, and he rightly concluded, that that young gentle- 
man’s really generous, and upright disposition, marred though 
it was by indolence, and fondness of pleasure, would not per- 
mit him to accept anything as a gift, to which he was not legal- 
ly entitled ; keeping this opinion however to himself, he fostered 
the generous impulse in the mind of his young victim, expa- 
tiated on the want of gratitude she would exhibit if she did not 
avail herself of the first possible opportunity to do what her 
heart told was her imperative duty, and displayed so much 
sympathy and generosity of feeling, that Rose reproached her- 
self, for the suspicion with which she had viewed, and the cold- 
ness with which she had treated him. Gradually, and almost im- 
perceptibly, his sentiments seemed to have merged from sym- 
pathy with her desires, to admiration for her virtues, and devo- 
tion to herself ; in exhibiting this growing affection, he acted so 
delicately — so unobtrusively — so different to his ordinary man- 
ner — that even the most refined sensitiveness could not have 
been offended, and even callousness must have felt some sor- 
row, that it had not the power to reward such apparently un- 
selfish affection. 

Two objects were thus gained at the same time : the deter- 
mination to sacrifice herself if necessary for the benefit of Lori- 


OUR STORY CLOSES. 


319 


mer, was strengthened until it amounted to an overruling pas- 
sion, while a tender, compassionating friendship was awakened 
towards Falcon. During the progress of this piece of hy- 
pocrisy, no opportunity was lost to speak of Lorimer’s painful 
position, of his struggles, real or imaginary, his difficulties and 
his disappointments, of what he is, and mjght have become, 
but for the loss of fortune ; he had continual occasion to nar- 
rate something about him, which rendered it a source of the 
deepest regret to Rose, that she wanted the power necessary 
to place him again in an independent position ; and when Fal- 
con one day, with a depth of sentiment which she could not 
have supposed him capable of possessing, narrated a false tale 
of sorrow — how Lorimer loved — and was loved in return by 
Miss Stanley — but had been refused her hand, on account of 
his poverty — how he was almost hear-tbroken — and had de- 
termined as a last resort to go to the coast of Africa — an^ 
either make a fortune, which would enable him to obtain his 
heart’s treasure, or never return again to his native land. Rose 
gave way to despair. Though she loved Lorimer to distrac- 
tion, hers was an affection which expected no return — which 
could have sacrificed all, to render its object happy — and feel- 
ing that her family had been the cause of his misfortunes, she 
could support her misery no longer, and falling to the feet of 
Falcon, she entreated him to help her to do that, on which her 
peace of mind, her very life depended. This was the oppor- 
tunity sought — the moment waited for. His business was 
lucrative, but his expenditure had been equal to his income ; if 
in his power, she might command his last penny — ^but alas — 
the means and not his will were wanting — one way and only 
one remained ; in taking this step she would make two men 
happy, and bring peace to her own mind — he would never have 
ventured to ask her hand, and would have been contented to 
be allowed to worship in sorrow, at a distance, and in secret, 
but her happiness was dearer to him even than the fear of being 
banished from her sight and if she refused his prayer, he would 


320 


LOKIMEK LITTLEGOOD. 


at least have the consolation of knowing, that he had done al\ 
in his power to save her from self-reproach : Lorimer loved 
another, she could never hope to have her love returned ; in 
giving her hand therefore to him, she was breaking no ties noi 
acting falsely to herself ; she was doing the only thing by which 
she could make Lorimer happy — for if she married Falcon, he 
would immediately take the necessary measures for transferring 
her fortune to Lorimer — its rightful owner — and surely it 
could be no argument against his prayer, if he alluded to his 
disinterestedness in loving her for herself, in agreeing to part 
with all she had to him she loved, and if she were assured that 
while doing her duty and acting nobly — generously — she at the 
same time rendered one to whom she was dearer than all else, 
supremely blest. — Poor little Rose ! how could she withstand 
this? how could she escape this web of sophistry and hy- 
pocrisy — how cope against an enemy — who knowing her weak- 
ness and appreciating her devotion, used both as a means of 
serving his ends ? — she consented — she became Falcon’s wife. 
# # * * # * 

The reader need not be informed, that treachery was beneath 
all the professions and promises of Falcon — and that he never 
intended to keep his word as regards returning his wife’s for- 
tune to Lorimer ; but as he loved her as well as he was capa- 
ble of loving anything, he wished if possible not to lose her 
good opinion, by openly violating his pledge, on the strength 
of which she g'ave him her hand, without marriage settlement 
or other security. He therefore called upon Lorimer the first 
time he came to town, and informed him, that his wife, intense- 
ly grateful to him for his kindness towards her when she was 
a poor and neglected child, felt excessively miserable that her 
family should have deprived him of what he had been led to 
believe was his birthright, and although conscious that it was 
rightly her due, she felt unhappy at being enriched at his ex- 
pense, and had therefore exacted a pledge from him, prior to 
their marriage, to return to Lorimer the fortune she possessed 


OUK STORY CLOSES. 


321 


— this promise he was now ready to fulfill, from affection to his 
wife, and regard to his word, although he could not but feel, 
that she was giving way to a mistaken generosity and a false 
notion of honor, considering that neither Lorimer or his father 
and grandfather were ever entitled to the property, of which 
her father had been unjustly deprived for so many years, to 
the injury, morally, mentally and physically, of himself and 
family. Lorimer, as might be expected, refused to avail him- 
self of Mr. Falcon’s generosity, although he felt deeply moved, 
by it ; and at the request of Falcon, he wrote her a letter 
stating the reasons, why he could not honorably avail himself 
of her generous offer, thanking her for her good intentions, and 
assuring her that he had now come to consider the loss of for- 
tune by no means so great a disaster as he at first thought, and 
doubted not that, with the experience he had obtained, and 
stimulated by the necessity for exertion, not only on his own 
account, but also for the sake of one whom he dearly loved 
and to whom he had reason to believe, he was not indifferent— 
he would succeed in carving out a career for himself, tending 
more to his happiness and being more useful to the world than 
the mere enjoyment of wealth, for which he had done nothing. 

This was a most severe blow to poor Rose ; the romantio 
aim which she had held out to herself, and which gave her 
strength to marry a man whom she did not love, had all proved 
a mere phantom ; she was enriched at Lorimer’s expense — and 
he was happy without her aid ; there was no further exercise for 
the sentiments which she had cherished, and viewing her pre- 
sent position calmly, she felt that she had made a mistake ; her 
husband was as yet kind and even affectionate, but the neces- 
sity for concealment being removed, she could not help seeing 
either that he had been playing a part, or that she had, under 
the influence of excitement, over estimated his qualities ; she 
felt at the same time that repining was useless, and that it was 
her duty, since she had married, to endeavor to love her hus- 
and. 


322 


LORIMEK L1TTL5G00D. 


Had there been anything in common between them, and if 
Falcon were not aware of her love for another, she might 
have gradually learned to love him ; as it was, he, although 
fully confiding in her honor, doubted her affection, and, while 
not reproaching her, he was apt to construe every trivial in- 
attention to that cause : this widened the breach between them 
and while their temperaments rendered petty quarrels impos- 
sible, there was that in their union which under adverse cir- 
cumstance, was certain to lead to her unhappiness. 

Lorimer had written to Rose, what was really true : he had 
seen enough of life — at least of one kind of life, to be tho- 
roughly sick of it ; his regard for Miss Stanley, which ripened 
into sincere affection, when he found that Jack Fenton was only 
an intimate friend, had the effect of fixing his mind more 
earnestly, on the necessity of devoting himself to some profes- 
sion, by means of which he might be able to support her, for he 
was too proud to be entirely dependent upon his wife for his for- 
tune : therefore after being assured of her affection, he entered 
one of the inns of court, and postponed his marriage until he 
was called to the bar, 

Fred Stanley made shorter work of it ; the impression made 
upon him by Jessie, when he first beheld her, was of a lasting 
kind ; he cultivated her acquaintance with his usual impetuosity 
and succeeded in gaining her love. They are now married, 
and under the influence of such a wife, and of the most perfect 
domestic happiness, he has become quite reconciled to English 
habits, and is now a staid respectable member of society. 
Mrs. Littlegood lives with her daughter, and enjoys her hap- 
piness with the same calmness that she did the misfortunes 
of bygone days. Mrs. Bennoch, although unable to compre- 
hend the feelings of her daughter, sees that she is not happy — 
and frequently asks herself “What good has come of our 
riches V' 


THE END. 




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